


The Witness

by wkemeup



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bodyguard Romance, F/M, Found Family, Guilt, Mutual Pining, Near Death, Protectiveness, Self Loathing, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Stabbing, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, flirty and charming bucky, smut with feelings, witness to a murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 85,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23054527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wkemeup/pseuds/wkemeup
Summary: Owner of a bar full of criminals, maybe you shouldn’t be surprised when you’re the sole witness to a hydra hit. In comes Detective Barnes, the quick-witted, flirtatious cop who somehow became a regular at your misfit bar. When he takes it upon himself to ensure your safety off the books, you learn to rely on someone else for a change and find you don’t mind it at all. Not when it’s him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 48
Kudos: 142





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> series playlist can be found here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3UloIbrPQpZtf9uC3lSFFc?si=zjdOmy8zQI2UnePP4BVcJw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost more of a prologue to set the story up so its a little time jumpy. But I live for your comments and I’d love to hear what you thought!

The first time you met Detective Barnes, it was in the midst of a brawl that had broken out in the middle of your bar. The two men, regulars you had come to know as Jack and Mosely, had been pushing through unsuspecting patrons, knocking over tables and braking glass along the floor with every punch. You mostly ignored it, figuring they’d calm down as they usually did after a hard enough hit to the face. It had taken up until a knife lodged itself into the wooden arch behind your head before you reached under the bar with an aggravated huff and yanked out your rifle, cocking it loudly.

The men froze as you tapped the stock of the gun against the bar, fists clenched in each other’s shirts, blood dripping from the sides of their faces. The onlookers silenced as they all turned to you.

“Take it outside, boys,” you growled, aiming the barrel at the two men. If there was one thing you didn’t tolerate, it was this kind of Neanderthal shit. Punching at one another was one thing, but throwing the knife that had whizzed by your face enough to feel a quick gust of wind? _Unacceptable._

No. Weapons.

There was a sign by the door in big red letters for Christ’s sake.

“You know the rules, assholes. Out!”

Admittedly, you knew your bar didn’t cater to the most law abiding of crowds. It hadn’t been your intention outright, but growing up with a father who used the bar as front for his drug trafficking side show, it didn’t give you much of a choice. Since he was hauled off to the big house and left the bar to you, you’d turned things around, kicked out the crew of guys attempting to coerce you into the same dirty business and ran it clean. It didn’t stop the biker gangs and petty thieves from inhabiting shop, though. It was familiar to them and you had a thick skin. Plus, they tipped well so you didn’t mind.

Detective Barnes had come barreling in that night through the front door just as Jack and Mosely pushed away from one another. His gun was at the ready, followed only by his partner you’d later learn to be Detective Wilson. He paused, confusion clearly sweeping over his features as bright blue eyes looked from you to the two men. 

Jack and Mosely were shaking glass from their hair, muttering apologizes to you as they dragged their feet towards the door. You narrowed your eyes on them as they passed, yanking the knife out from the wall. Jack had stopped at the head of the bar to retrieve his weapon but you shook your head at him.

“This is mine now.” You admired it for a moment before you tossed it into the wooden box of confiscated weapons you kept hidden behind the bar. It fell amongst a series of knifes, small handguns, a rather rusted looking switchblade and a hammer with a head so wide you’d have a hard time missing your mark. Jack’s face fell as he trudged towards the door.

“Don’t bring that shit in my bar again!” you called after them as they trudged off to the exit.

You never learned who had made the call to 911 that night. No one in the bar would dare snitch to the cops and you knew how to cover your own ass. Still, you didn’t mind the way Detective Barnes stood in the doorway as he chuckled to himself, holstering his weapon. He watched Jack and Mosley exit the bar without another word and he turned back to you with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“Looks like you’ve got it covered here,” he said, those blue eyes of his flashing in your direction. You had never been one for cops, especially since you had grown up knowing them as the enemy thanks to your criminal of a father, but this one intrigued you. Light blue button-down shirt that fit just a little too snug against his biceps and a shiny gold badge affixed to his hip, he’d caught your attention rather quickly, though you’d never have admitted it at the time.

“We haven’t had too many calls about this place lately,” he observed and you could tell he was gaging you for a reaction. You figured he knew who you were and what this bar used to be. You kept your features stern. He shrugged. “I imagine you run a tight ship; try to keep to yourself.”

You narrowed your eyes, barely giving him a glance as you started to wipe down the countertop. The pendent of a necklace given to you by your father before he was taken to prison fell out from behind the neck of your shirt. You glanced up at him and you could tell it caught his eye. Quickly, you tucked it back under your shirt. It wasn’t for him, or anyone else, to see.

He smiled, watching you carefully with a sort of fascination you didn’t see often. It was curiosity – _intrigue_ – perhaps. Regardless, he let out an almost nervous laugh as he exhaled.

“You got any concerns, you just give us a call. The name’s Barnes. That idiot over there’s Wilson.” He slipped a business card across the bar and you eyed it suspiciously, not bothering to fully read the text.

“Pretty sure I can memorize three numbers.”

That got his partner laughing as he leaned against the wall by the exit, arms folding over his chest. He had his eyes closed, about ready to take a nap where he stood. It was nearing one in the morning after all.

Barnes shook his head, sending you the kind of cocky smile you would have hated on just about any other face. “Consider this your emergency contact.”

“I can take of myself, thanks,” you retorted, though you still picked up the card. _Detective James B. Barnes_. _14 th Police Precinct of New York. _It listed the address of the station and in the bottom left corner held an image of police shield. Just above his name in big bold font was a phone number. You forced a tight smile, gesturing to the card as slid it into the compartment where you kept your rifle.

Barnes sent you that cocky smirk of his and tapped his hands on the bar twice before he jogged his way towards the exit. He punched Wilson in the shoulder, waking him from whatever trance he had zoned out into, and then they were gone.

***

The second time you ran into Detective Barnes, he had strolled into your bar on a Thursday near midnight. He was dressed in his street clothes; navy blue bomber, a simple white t-shirt, and jeans that sat a little too tightly on his hips, not that you minded. He was a descent sight to look at amongst the sea of patrons you kept. The gold badge noticeably absent from his hip.

He took a seat at the middle of the bar, waiting patiently as you sent him a questioning glance while you attended to the near seven-foot-tall biker named Smalls. After you handed Smalls his usual, you wiped your hands with the towel draped against your hip and made your way over to him.

“Officer Barnes,” you said causally, “what can I do for you?”

“ _Detective_ Barnes, actually,” he clarified with a smirk. You knew.

“You’re in the wrong bar, _Detective_.” You gestured to the crowd of faces staring in his direction. You’d done your research after your first meeting with the detective. They must recognize him. He’d been the lead cop in several cases that took down their friends, even locked a few of them up himself for a stretch of time here and there. Angry stares bordering on murderous as a few could be seen clenching their glasses so tight you were certain they’d break.

Barnes glanced over his shoulder for a moment, eyeing up the crowd, before he turned back to you and shrugged nonchalantly.

“Think I’m exactly where I should be, actually.”

He started inspecting the shelf behind you and you noticed one of patrons, went only by Charlie, who had had been a friend of your father’s starting to stand, his gaze staring holes in the Detective’s back. You shook your head softly, making eye contact with him, as you lowered your hand to signal him to stand down. He nodded, though looking rather begrudged about it before he obliged. You didn’t know what exactly he did for your father, but he always looked out for you. You appreciated as much.

“This is a dangerous bar for a cop, Barnes,” you warned, voice low and he pointed to the bottom shelf bourbon.

“Good thing I’m off duty,” he quipped back with a smirk, watching closely as you pulled a short glass from above the shelves and sat it on the bar in front of him. “Besides, I heard the bartender’s got a real hold on this place. Think I might be ok, don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes as you grabbed the half empty bottle and popped the lid off, pouring out slightly less than you usually do for your clientele. He noticed, but he didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his hand around the glass, giving you a nod in thanks, before bringing it to his lips. A wince scoured his face as he swallowed.

“This is shit!” he coughed, setting the glass back against the bar as he shot you a look of betrayal as though you had poisoned him.

You shrugged, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re the one who chose bottom shelf bourbon at a bar filled with criminals.”

“And what about you?” he inclined, leaning just a little closer to you, arms folded as they leaned against the bar. He was dangerously close.

“What about me?”

“Are you a criminal?” His voice was too smooth, too suggestive. Those eyes of his were going to get him in trouble.

You scoffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

***

Detective Barnes had become somewhat of a regular after that. Showed up at least twice a week, sometimes three, following his shift at the one-four. He didn’t seem phased by the angry looks your customers sent his way; didn’t even flinch when Big Al had shoved him up against a wall when you had your back turned. He’d just purse his lips into that goddamn smirk and wait for you to notice. Al had dropped him the moment you had sent him a warning glare that suggested _if he didn’t put that cop down, he’d be seeing the end of your rifle._

Barnes didn’t talk much when he came in besides the few flirty quips he’d shoot your way. You’d brush him aside every time, roll your eyes teasingly or shrug it off. It never seemed to dissuade him or notch at his ego. He’d just nod with that grin of his and turn back to his drink he clearly couldn’t stand the taste of. He was one of the few that would sit at the bar itself, nursing at his shitty bourbon and glancing up to watch as you cleaned the surfaces or restocked the pretzels in your downtime.

Somehow, despite your better judgement, you found yourself enjoying his company. You pretended you didn’t realize when you found yourself lingering over by his end of the bar, at least.

“You ever get tired of workin’ in a place like this?” he asked one night, swirling around the last sip of amber liquid in his glass. You paused, thinking about his question for a minute before you set the glass you had been cleaning on the table.

“Maybe if I have to break up a fight one too many times in a week,” you said, “but this is my home. Grew up in this joint. Don’t know what else I could be doing, anyway. Don’t have much of a skillset outside of mixing drinks and threatening my customers.”

Barnes nodded, seemingly pleased with your answer. He shrugged. “I bet you could get out if you wanted to.”

“You make it sound like I’m trapped here,” you accused lightheartedly, picking up the freshly cleaned glass from the bar to stock it back on the shelf. As you turned back, you refilled Barnes’ glass, waving him off as he reached for the wallet he kept in his back pocket. He’d spent enough of his money in your bar this week.

“Not saying that at all, actually.” He smiled, lifting those blue eyes up to yours as he snuck a few bills into the tip jar. “Just think you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Think you know enough about me to make that call?”

“Trust me, I know plenty.”

“Careful, Detective. You’re treading on uncharted territory,” you teased, enjoying the way his cheeks had begun to flush, though you brushed it off as the effects of the alcohol.

***

It would be nearly a month of short conversations and flirty banter down at the secluded end of your bar. Questions of ‘ _how’d that case go you’d been killing yourself over?’_ and ‘ _did you order a better bottom shelf liquor than this horseshit, yet?_ ’ The bell would jingle as the door swung open and you’d find yourself looking towards the entrance, cursing yourself under your breath when you’d notice the sliver a disappointment when it wasn’t him strolling in through the door.

He was funnier, kinder even, then he let on. He liked to pretend he was some kind of arrogant, loud mouthed cop, but the truth was he was honestly curious with every question he asked, listened intently to your answers, and the flirty comments he sent your way always had a sincerity laced behind them, like he was trying to mask genuine compliments with quick witted humor and banter. He didn’t mind telling you about himself, but it seemed he just liked hearing about you.

It had been a long time since someone wanted to know how your day had been without some kind of ulterior motive. Barnes wasn’t like the kind of the men who had snuck into your bar when they caught sight of you through the window, just to sit at the countertop and flirt relentlessly with you all night despite your constant dismissals.

Instead, he’d ask you questions like why you liked to arrange the liquor bottles in a certain way or who was your favorite regular or why this brand of pretzel or what made you happy. He’d ask if you were an arts or sports kind of person, duck or dawn, museums or movies, travel type of vacation or sitting on the beach.

You couldn’t understand why he was so interested in these sorts of things, but you found you didn’t once mind answering his questions.

Last you saw of Barnes was a few nights prior. He’d said something about some big op that he’d be working on for months, trying to impress you the way he talked about it. Didn’t give you a lick of detail, of course, but you suspected it was why he hadn’t been in.

It wasn’t that you missed having him around – _because you didn’t, let’s be clear_ – you were just curious by nature. You liked having your hands in different baskets, liked knowing about the business of the cops as much as you did about the dirty men in your bar. Prepared you for what would walk through the entrance anyway.

It was coming near closing and only a few stragglers remained. You had rung the bell for last call ten minutes earlier, though no one had come up.

Brenda, a mean lookin’ woman with long red hair and a leather vest seemingly permanently affixed to her wardrobe, was slumped over the table in the far back corner, snoring rather loudly.

Charlie, the friend of your father’s, was twirling a pen in his hands the way you suspected he usually did with a knife, though he was consistently respectful of your no weapons policy. He stayed late often to keep an eye out for you – another lingering habit from his days with your father.

The last remaining patron was Matty, stumbling over by the bathroom. He was just over the cusp of twenty-one and you had spent most of your time trying to convince him to find friends elsewhere, though he wouldn’t budge.

“Alright guys,” you called and Brenda’s head snapped up, looking rather dazed. “Time to head home.”

Charlie quickly walked across the bar to gather Matty’s stumbling mess before he sent you a quick nod goodnight and helped the kid back outside. Brenda was grumbling under her breath as she staggered behind them. She sent you a wave that a was just slightly under aggressive.

Alone, you took out the broom and started to attend to the crumbs of pretzels scattered along the floor. You didn’t mind the silence, humming softly to yourself as you bent down to sweep the pile of dirt accumulated in the corner into the dust pan. As you dumped it into the trash, a loud clanging coming from beyond the door to the back alley caught your attention.

Your hand sprang up to clutch at the pendent of your necklace. Somewhere along the line, it had become like a source of protection to you. It reminded you of your father in his best days, when he was nothing more than the man who attended your dance recitals and taught you how to ride a bike and kept you at a careful distance from the men dressed in black who would come into the bar when you were young. The grazed edges of the pendent dug into your skin but it grounded you.

Eyes narrowing, you turned towards the direction of the sound, only for it to ring out again.

 _“_ Goddamn raccoons, _”_ you huffed, recognizing the familiar noise as the trash bin out back. They must have got under the lid again. Little gremlins. 

You set the dust pan on the ground, keeping your broom in hand in the event you had to ward off some unlikely animal friends, and made your way to the back door. Brushing your hands on the towel sitting on your hip, you pushed open the back door.

It was darker out than you expected. The light above the door must have blown out since your previous shift. You squinted, trying to adjust your eyes to the darkness. You had only taken a few steps in the direction of the dumpster when you heard voices on the other side. You paused, knowing enough about the sort of people who frequented your bar to hide in the shadows before you could get a better read on exactly what was happening at two in the morning in the dark alley next to your bar.

“Listen, son, you don’t gotta do this,” a voice said, one you quickly recognized as Charlie. _What was he still doing here? Didn’t he just escort Matty outside not too long ago?_

Curious, you peaked your head around the corner of the dumpster only to find a second man standing in the center of the alley with his back to you. Tall, dark hair, and a strong build that towered over Charlie’s frame. The edge of a tattoo crawled out along his neck, peeking out from under his t-shirt. It looked almost like… _tentacles._

“Orders are orders, chief,” the unknown man said with a shrug.

“I don’t know nothing about a list, son,” Charlie implored, though his tone was steady, unafraid. He held out his hands to the side defensively. “You’ve got yourself confused. I don’t do that anymore. It’s in the past.”

“That’s the thing, old man,” the man in the shadows sighed. “Hydra doesn’t forget.”

Then, in the impossibly brief moment Charlie’s gaze caught yours, he shook his head quickly, urging you to stay where you were, the man had whipped a gun out from the back waistband of his jeans and fired three shots, muffled in sound by the silencer at the end of the barrel.

You gasped, covering your mouth with both hands as you stumbled backwards. Feet tripping over the broom that had fallen from your hands and suddenly you were on the ground. A stinging in your legs, tingling as blood dripped from where the tiny rocks had imbedded into your skin. The gunman glanced back in your direction at the sound of the gravel rustles under you, but you had scurried yourself into the shadows of the dumpster before he could notice your presence.

Heart beating wildly, you could feel tears welling in your eyes, adrenaline pumping too fast in your blood stream for you to keep up. You wanted to scream, to do something, anything, to release the building tention in your chest that threatened to suffocate you. You could hardly breathe, your trembling hands pressed so tightly over your mouth to suppress the sound of your labored breaths.

Hours must have passed in the span of a few seconds as the sound of gravel crunching under heavy footsteps started to fade away, disappearing in the direction of the street. After you finally caught your breath, you dared to peak around the corner of the dumpster. Your fingers touched at the grimy surface, holding you steady as you slowly pulled yourself out of the shadows.

Down the center of the alley, the man was gone and Charlie was lying on his back upon the pavement. Without another thought, you scrambled to your feet, sprinting down the alley towards him, skidding on your knees painfully as you dropped by his side. His eyes were still open, breaths coming in short and labored. Your hands hovered over the blood soaking his abdomen. There were too many points of entry, you’d never be able to push pressure on all three wounds, but – _God_ – you tried.

“H-hang in there, Charlie,” you urged frantically, glancing up towards the street for anyone passing by. Hands pressed down harder on his stomach the blood seeped through the spaces between your fingers. Charlie coughed and blood spilled from his lips. That wasn’t a good sign.

“R-Ruh-”

“Don’t talk, ok? You’ll be - _help!_ \- You’ll be just fine, you hear me?”

A couple walking by stopped at the edge of the alley, staring down towards you quizzically before they realized exactly what they were looking at. The woman screamed, clinging to the man as he quickly yanked his phone from his pocket.

Charlie shook his head, hand reaching up to your wrist though it was trembling. “… was R-Ruhm-”

“Ambulance is on the way!” The man standing at the sidewalk called down to you. He wouldn’t move from the security of the well-lit street, not with his girl attached to his hip like that. You nodded frantically, trying to convince yourself it would be enough. They’d be here in time and Charlie could give a full report. You hadn’t noticed Charlie’s hand fall limp at his side.

“Hear that?” you asked, hoping you were conveying more optimism in your voice than you felt. “Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

When you finally tore your eyes away from the street, you found yourself staring down at distant, clouded eyes staring beyond what you could see, head tilted slightly to his left, mouth agape.

“Ch-Charlie?” A lump started to form in the back of your throat. Tears welled in your eyes as you started to shake him, gripping tight at the fabric of his t-shirt. “No, please, don’t do this to me! Wake up!”

Red and blue lights illuminated the alley as you started shouting at him, your own voice sounding muffled as muted footsteps sprinted in your direction. Careful hands fell on your shoulders, urging you away and you recoiled violently away from the grasp.

“Come on, Y/n, it’s over,” the voice behind you said, so achingly calm and sincere, familiar. You shot a glare over your shoulder to find Detective Barnes watching you with the kind of pity in his eyes that only made your stomach turn. He put a hand on your shoulder again upon noticing the sudden shaking in your body.

“Don’t touch me!” You shook him off, turning back to Charlie to keep the pressure on his wounds. There was still time. The paramedics could still save him. They were standing a few feet away, just watching you. “What the hell are you doing? _Help him!_ ”

They didn’t move. One had sent a helpless look in Barnes’ direction you didn’t appreciate.

“He’s gone,” Barnes said softly, kneeling down beside you.

You shook your head, years of anger and frustration welling quickly in your chest. It wasn’t fair. You had just seen him helping Matty walk out of your bar a couple minutes ago. What was he even doing in this alley? He hadn’t been mixed up in this kind of stuff in years, not since your father. 

When you finally allowed yourself to look into the faded brown of Charlie’s eyes, something broke. A sob racked through you and you pulled your hands away from his stomach. Blood dripping down your wrists, your forearms. It was everywhere. Trembling hands shaking violently as you turned them over, examining the evidence upon your skin.

“Can I get a medic?” Barnes shouted, gesturing towards you.

You stood quickly, pulling away from him. The medic rushed closer to you and threw a heavy blanket over your shoulders. You had nearly shrugged it off to prove a point, when the weight of it seemed to alleviate the tightness in your chest. The medic reached towards your hands with a towel but you yanked away. The medic sent you an apologetic grimace. You turned to find Barnes and Wilson standing over Charlie’s body, talking quietly amongst themselves. You groaned, pushing your hands out for the medic to clean.

“Are you hurt?” The medic’s voice was trembling. He must be new. Maybe you should cut him some slack. You shook your head, eyes catching over to the detectives who were bagging a shell casing a few feet from Charlie’s left foot. Barnes was kneeling down by Charlie’s head, a steady hand reaching down to brush the old man’s eyes closed. It was the last moment of kindness that Charlie deserved.

Barnes sent a glance over his shoulder back at you and you quickly looked away, pulling the ends of the blanket tighter around you.

You had been able to handle the shit that came into your bar before him. A few fights and maybe a light stabbing once in a while that would end with a round of beers, but nothing like this. The sort that frequented your bar weren’t murderers, not as far as you knew, and you knew pretty well. Shit like this didn’t come about until Detective Barnes inserted himself into your life. 

He was the only difference in your routine that had been perfectly predictable for years. He was a blip in your life, so insignificant in the grand scheme, but – _God –_ he changed everything.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk about you guys but I’m ready to really get this series to get into the good stuff! lots of sweet/flirty bucky in this chapter before some angst hits ya soon 😉

You had only ridden in the back of a police car twice in your life. The first had been when you were seven years old. Legs too short to reach the floor, swinging nervously and tapping against the passenger seat, eliciting a sharp glare from the officer staring at you in the sideview mirror. You had your arms wrapped tightly around a small brown bear. It was old and tattered but it was one you’d had since you were a baby.

There were blood stains in its fur. 

Your father was sitting on your left, staring at the window as he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes brimming with tears. He’d never been one to let his emotion hang on his sleeve and it was the last time he’d allowed you to witness it.

Sirens wailed as the car zipped through the busy streets of New York at an hour you’d never seen before. Not quite understanding what was happening, you were caught up in the lights of the city, mesmerized as they blurred into colorful streaks the faster the car sped through the traffic. It wasn’t until you arrived at the station and your father had been hulled off for questioning until you told the nice woman in blue about the man who had hurt your mommy.

Your second time was admittedly much worse. The sharp awareness of the events that had transpired rendering on an endless loop in the back of your mind. You couldn’t shake the image from your mind no matter how hard you tried. Charlie’s eyes boring into yours. The deafening sound of the gun shot. The way his body fell so limply to the ground. The blood – _so much blood._ Cold, distant brown eyes.

“You alright back there?”

You blinked a few times, trying to pull back your focus. You looked up at the review mirror to see Detective Barnes’ glance flickering back to you as he drove; a few seconds on the road, one back at you, repeat. You licked your lips and turned to look out the window – anything to avoid those blue eyes that seemed to see right through you.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, folding your arms protectively over your chest.

He had started to say something else when his partner, Wilson, hit him in the arm. The rest of the ride was silent save for the wailing of the siren.

By the time you reached the station, you were lost in your own thoughts. The door clicked open and you sat there, unmoving, for an additional minute before Detective Wilson carefully led you out of the car. It was quiet by the station, you noticed. Flashes of bright lights of photographers had lined your walkway to this very station when you were a child. Charlie’s murder wasn’t as newsworthy as your mother’s it seemed.

“I’ll get you some coffee,” Wilson said as he opened the door for you to step inside. A wave of cool air hit your skin and you shivered. “Barnes’ll take you to the interview room.”

Your eyes were squinting, attempting to shield yourself from the influx of florescent lighting. You flinched as the copier kicked into gear. It was too busy in this building for this hour of the night. A blinding headache pulsed at the nape of your neck. Twisting in your fingers, you realized you had been fidgeting with your necklace.

“How do you like it?”

You blinked. “W-what?”

Wilson smiled softly, nodding towards the coffee machine. “It ain’t good, but sometimes we can mask how shitty it is if you take something in it. I tend to go for the mocha creamer.”

“Which you steal from me, _thief,_ “ a red-haired woman called from her desk without missing a beat as she typed away. She didn’t even lift her eyes to look as him.

He feigned offense and then leaned in closer before he spoke again, like he was telling a secret. “I can still get it for you, if you like.”

The red-head rolled her eyes, though she had started to laugh to herself. You found the very edge of your lip tugging, trying to pull a smile out of you, though it fell just as quick as it appeared. You were impressed he was able to get that much from you, anyway.

“Sure,” you said, your voice more broken than you realized. “One sugar, too?”

This got him smiling. He gave you a thumbs up before jogging over to the coffee table.

“Come on,” Detective Barnes gestured, “this way.”

You nodded, following him in a bit of a daze down the long corridor. He glanced back over his shoulder every few paces, almost as if he was checking to make sure you were still behind him. You were busy watching one of the officers dressed in official uniform lean against the wall, his forearm resting above the head of a young woman as she looked up at him over the top of her coffee. They were smiling at one another, laughing quietly as if sharing a secret. You didn’t know the last time you’d ever been on the end of a look like that unless it was surface level teasing. It reminded you a little bit of – _oof._

You bumped right into Barnes’ back as he paused unexpectedly, face hitting square between his shoulder blades and he spun around to steady you. Snapped back into reality, your eyes fell down to his hands gripping your arms and he quickly pulled away as if he had burned you. He was being suspiciously quiet for the man who couldn’t stop running his mouth when he sat at your bar. 

“Hey, Barnes, you ready?” A man stepped out from behind the closed door to your left. With a black suit jacket, carefully groomed goatee, and thick rimmed glasses, he didn’t exactly fit the part of the other cops roaming around. He pressed out a smile when he looked in your direction before his eye caught the officer and woman huddled in the breakroom through the window and he shouted, “Flirt with the analysts on your own time, Ward!”

The two quickly ducked away from one another.

“Stark,” Barnes grumbled. He didn’t seem pleased to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you could use some backup,” he quipped, shoving a file of papers into Barnes’ chest as he gestured for you to follow him into the room. You didn’t know why you did, but you looked to Barnes first, sending him a cautious look and waited until he nodded slightly before you took another step.

Dark grey drywall lined the open space and a long, horizontal mirror was imbedded in the wall to your left. In the center of the room, a metal table. Two single chairs facing one another and a silver bar fastened to the top of the table where a pair of hand cuffs could be woven through to bind the suspect in place. You weren’t a fool. You knew what this was.

“An interrogation room?” You paused at the entry way, nails digging into your skin.

Barnes clenched his jaw and cursed under his breath, though it seemed more directed at himself than anything else. Slowly, he nodded. “It’s just to talk.”

“You think I’m a suspect,” you gawked, more of a statement than a question. There was a reason you weren’t quick to trust cops. First on scene was always the prime suspect; your father had taught you that as a kid. Don’t go to the cops, they won’t believe you. They’ll take one look at your last name and think the worst. You sent an accusatory glare at Barnes and he shook his head, holding his hands up defensively.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re not _not_ saying that.”

Barnes sighed, now running his hands through his short, dark hair; couldn’t keep the damn things still. He was looking at you like you were a child, lost and scared, like you were something to be pitied. It was starting to make your skin boil.

“We can’t officially rule it out until we go through the evidence and you give a statement,” he started, “I’m sure you’re familiar with how this goes -”

“What makes you say that?” you snapped, unable to hold your tongue any longer. “You think because of the people I serve in my bar that I’m dirty? _Is that it?_ You don’t know shit about me, Barnes. You come into my bar a few times a week for a month and you think you have some kind of profile on me but-”

“We know your mom was killed by a hitman when you were a kid,” Stark’s voice cut you off, carrying the kind of austerity that set you off guard. He said it so simply, so matter of fact, that it made you freeze in your tracks. You swallowed, pressing your lips together tightly as your heart started to pick up in pace. He leaned against the table.

“Tony,” Barnes warned, his voice low. “Watch yourself.”

Stark didn’t pay him any mind as he turned and sat on the edge of the table, folding his arms over his chest. “We know that your father was involved with trafficking drugs for Hydra. The same organization who hired the hitman that killed your mom, by the way.”

Barnes shouted for Stark to ‘ _back the hell off’_ , but he didn’t listen.

“We know that you now run the bar he used a front to sell heroin to poor kids on the street,” Stark continued. “We also know you have a big mouth and put on a brave little face for those low-lifes who pay your bills, but underneath it all, you’re scared as shit. Maybe you can handle a bar filled of misdemeanors and petty thieves, but you don’t stand a chance against the big guns and you know it.”

You were seething as Stark pushed himself off the table and walked around to kick out the chair closest to the wall.

“Now - _Sit. Down_.”

Despite the rage boiling in your veins, you crossed the room and sat down in the chair, keeping your eyes trained on his with a burning look of disdain upon your features.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Stark?” Barnes grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You know more than you’re letting on,” Stark sneered at you, slamming a fist against the table enough for it to make you jump. “You’ve had a hand in your father’s business this whole time, haven’t you? _Haven’t you!_ ”

"Stark!” Barnes barked, enough for his fellow Detective to take a few steps back. You exhaled a heavy breath. “This isn’t how I want you treating my witness.”

“What so she’s _your_ witness?” Stark snapped back, momentum already riling up again. “You think this case is yours because you spend a few nights in her bar and maybe a little something on the si-”

“ _Enough!_ ”

You sunk further into the chair, heat flooding to your cheeks as you glanced towards the booming voice coming from the doorway. The shadow of a man stood in its frame. As he stepped into the room, you noticed the features of his face were much kinder than his expression suggested. Short blonde hair, toned arms, and dressed in a black tie and white button-up shirt rolled to his elbows, decorated with pins and badges along the left of his chest and a police shield emblem on the sleeves.

“Captain Rogers,” Stark mumbled, shooting Barnes a glare. “What can we do for you?”

“It was getting loud in here,” the captain replied sternly, eyes glancing over to you cautiously before they returned to Barnes. “Is everything alright?”

You clenched your jaw, keeping your arms folded tight over your chest and everted your gaze.

Stark rolled his eyes, tapping his rather expensive looking shoe on the tile. “Look, Cap. This is our first lead on Hydra in months. Permission to treat the witness as hostile?”

“ _What?_ Permission denied!” Captain Rogers shook his head, aghast. “You’re not a lawyer, Stark. You’re a detective. Act like it!”

“She’s the daughter of a known Hydra affiant!”

“She’s not a threat, Stark,” Barnes retorted. He stepped out from his position leaning against the wall and into Stark’s direct path to you. His shoulders were so tense you could see the muscle through the thin layer of his shirt. “She’s just here to talk.”

“So _you_ say!”

“Back down, Stark,” the captain warned.

Tony threw his arms in the arm. “Oh, so Barnes can flirt a little with the witness after hours and practically gets the case handed to him but I take this damn thing seriously and you’re punishing _me_?”

“What Detective Barnes does on his free time does not concern this precinct, Stark, you know that.”

“You’re only defending him because you two used to be partners before Commander Fury promoted you – which was a serious conflict of interest by the way,” Stark argued.

“I’m still your captain, Stark. Watch it.”

“Am I the only one trying to bring down Hydra here!?” Stark started to pace the length of the room. He took a step to his left and you caught sight of yourself in the reflection of the two-way mirror.

Muffled shouted suggested Stark was still arguing with the captain, but you couldn’t hear much of what they were saying. Drifting out of focus to much of anything besides your reflection, your eyes caught on the red flakes in your hair, sunken skin below your eyes, and a far-off look about you that nearly made you cringe.

You tilted your face to the side, examining the splatter of blood along your cheek and started to rug at it vigorously. Neither Stark or Rogers seemed to notice, but Barnes had narrowed his eyes on you, watching carefully from the other side of the room. He was about to take a step forward towards you when Stark’s voice snapped you out of your trance.

“Have either of you actually read her father’s rap sheet? It’s a mile long and there’s no goddamn way she wasn’t involved!”

Red stained hands slammed sharply against the table, enough to leave a sting in your palms and you were on your feet before you could stop yourself, drawing the immediate attention of the three men in the room.

“I am _not_ my father!”

You were panting, heavy breaths in your lungs as you stared down Stark. Admittedly, he was eyeing you with intrigue, like he was more impressed than suspicious of your claim. Legs crossed as he leaned against the two-way mirror, he started to grin.

“Oh, is this a bad time?” Detective Wilson peaked his head out from behind the captain’s large frame, carrying a cup of steaming coffee in his right hand.

“No, it’s not,” you groaned, waving for him to come in. “Thank you, Detective Wilson.”

He looked towards the captain before he entered, and with a subtle nod from the boss, Wilson quickly skidded into the room, half jogging but careful to keep his hand steady. The sincerity of it got you smiling again.

“Please, it’s Sam,” he smiled, winking at you as he set the coffee down on the table.

“That’s two people flirting with the witness now, Cap,” Tony pointed out, physically snapping and pointing in Sam’s direction. Though, this time, his tone was rather coy.

“Buck, I trust you to take her statement and ensure she gets home safely,” Captain Rogers ordered, nodding for Stark and Sam to exit the room. Sam sent you that flashy smile of his as Tony pushed himself away from the wall dramatically before they both were gone.

A heavy exhale from behind you as Barnes slowly paced around to the other side of the table. He took a seat, clearing his throat before he opened the pad of paper sitting to his left. Just the two of you alone in the room, you could feel yourself start to relax. It felt familiar with the barrier of the table between you, like a rusted metal version of your bar top.

Barnes was clicked the end of the pen, scribbling haphazardly against the paper, growing more and more frustrated when the ink refused to capture on the paper, only the imprint of the ballpoint pen left behind. He grunted and you couldn’t help but giggle under your breath, surprised he was able to turn your mood around so easily without even trying. He tossed the useless pen across the room and pulled a new one from his pocket.

“So, ‘Buck’, huh? Where’s that even come from?”

A smile tugged at his lips, though he kept his attention at the paper as he started to write his credentials at the top. “Middle name’s Buchanan. Friends call me Bucky.”

“Well that’s silly,” you shrugged, trying to suppress the grin on your face as he started to chuckle; the kind of sound that made you forget about the red stains on your skin and the horrors locked inside your mind, horrors he would ask you to relive in just a few minutes. You tried to push the thought away.

“Yeah, well, there were too many kids named James in my kindergarten class.”

You nodded. “Did you go to kindergarten in the 1920’s? You might know my grandfather, goes by Albert.”

He shook his head, a laugh actually escaping him a moment before he bit on his lip to hold it back in. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

A silence took over and you tried to capture the ease you felt in this moment, knowing that it would be difficult to find it again once he started asking questions. Barnes set the pen down on the table, pausing before he looked up at you.

“I’m sorry about Stark, by the way,” he said slowly. “He’s not usually that… abrasive. He’s got a, uh, personal stake in this. We’ve been trying to dismantle Hydra for years and he really thought you’d have answers for him.”

A careful nod as you considered his words. “You seem pretty sure I don’t.”

“I know we talk a lot about your bar being filled with criminals, but the truth is most of them haven’t been incarcerated in years,” Barnes said, a sincerity in his voice you didn’t expect. “They’ve got mostly petty crimes, drug possessions, or misdemeanor assault charges, nothing that would stop them from being a productive member of society since they served their time, but enough that it puts a bad label on ‘em. They’ve got the kinda look that screams ‘bad news’ and an attitude that goes with it, and yet, for some reason they flock to you.”

You blinked a few times, slightly taken back.

He continued. “They respect you. Not because of who your dad is, either. They stop dead in their tracks when you start reprimanding them because they know they disappointed you. You take care of them. You treat them like real people and hold them to a standard they don’t find out on the streets. You tried to save the life of that man in the alley tonight. I saw that. I saw how hard you tried to bring him back and how hard you took it when you couldn’t. Someone like that ain’t got a thing to do with Hydra. I’d bet my badge on it.”

You paused, letting his words sink in. “That’s a heavy wager, Detective Barnes.”

A beat. A soft smile lifting his callused lips. Then, “I thought I already told you my friends call me Bucky.”

***

You spent the next three hours going over those seven minutes of your life in excruciating detail. Everything from when Charlie had tried to escort Matty out of the bar to you hiding in the alley behind the dumpster to when Bucky and Sam had arrived on scene. You had tried to tell him every detail you could possibly remember on the man with the gun, but it was too dark. You’d only seen his face for a second, it wasn’t enough time to do a sketch rendering. All you could tell him about was the tattoo on the man’s neck, but that was something most of Hydra had anyway. Bucky had hoped you’d be able to identify the face in a picture of known Hydra affiants, but that had come up empty.

Nothing you told him seemed to bring him any closer to a lead. It was nearing six in the morning when the frustration that had been building for hours started to snap.

“We’ve been at this all night!” you huffed, pushing out your chair as you started pacing the room. Bucky sat back, folding his arms as he watched you. You pushed away the hairs fallen into your eyes. “What- What good am I to Charlie if I can’t even remember what the asshole who killed him even looked like!”

“Come on, Y/n, this ain’t your fault and you know that,” Bucky reminded you sincerely. He had said it a few times so far this morning, though he didn’t once sound tired of saying it.

“I can’t-” You groaned, leaning against the table for support. “I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Bucky reassured as he set down the pen and flipped back the seventeen pages he had scribbled in the notebook. Seventeen pages of material and you still felt useless. “Why don’t I get you home, okay? It’s been a long day. You can give us a call if you think of anything else, alright?”

You nodded, a yawn taking over before you could suppress it. “Sorry I kept you all night. Bet your wife’s a tough woman for putting up with this life.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah… no wife. This job doesn’t allow for steady relationships.”

“But it does allow for flirting with witnesses,” you accused through a teasing smirk. 

“Didn’t know you’d be my witness yet, Y/n,” Bucky retorted through a smile, gesturing towards the door. He opened it for you and followed you out into the hallway.

Damn those florescent lights.

“Detective Barnes!” A kid dressed in the official blue uniform scurried across the bull pen, skidding around Sam who shot him an irritable glare and nearly crashed into Stark who shouted at him to ‘ _watch it, Pete!_ ’ He was small, leaner than most of the cops in here and had a boyish smile in his face, eager, like he was constantly searching for ways to prove himself.

Bucky sighed. “What is it, Parker?”

“Heard you had a late night and I’d like to offer to take Miss – uh, sorry, I didn’t get your name?” he grimaced towards you with a blush in his cheeks.

“Y/L/n,” you replied, too keen to enjoy the kid’s fluster.

He cleared his voice, straightening his back. “I’d like to offer to escort Miss Y/L/n home.”

“That won’t be necessary, Parker, I’ve got it covered,” Bucky replied quickly, a little too quickly, as he started to lead you towards the door.

Parker jumped around to stand in Bucky’s way. When Bucky didn’t stop walking, Parker started moving backwards, pulling off his cap and twisting it nervously in his hands. You glanced between the kid and Bucky, a gleam of welcomed amusement you so desperately needed.

“Well, actually, sir, the thing is, –”

Bucky pulled to a stop and you along with him. “Spit it out, kid.”

“Captain Rogers kinda said that your overtime is killing the budget and you need to go home.”

“Great,” Bucky grunted. “I’ll go home after Y/n does.”

“Actually–”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Bucky threw his arms in the air, glaring over at the office across the bull pen. Behind the semi-open shades stood Captain Rogers, nursing a cup of coffee, as he eyed them from over the mug. Bucky let out an exasperated groan. “Fine! Okay, Rogers?” he shouted towards the office and the captain lifted his mug in acknowledgement. “Fine!”

Bucky sighed, turning to you. “You okay if this _child_ takes you home? I can grab Wilson or maybe Nat if she’s around…”

You shook your head, smiling as you watched Parker celebrate as Bucky’s back was turned. He seemed like a sweet kid. You needed more of that in your life, especially after the night you had.

“I’m fine,” you reassured Bucky, noticing the frustration in his heavy breaths and tensed shoulders. “I bet he’s stronger than he looks. Could probably stop a train with his bare hands, huh?”

Parker nodded vigorously. Bucky rolled his eyes. He turned to the kid, grabbing a hold of his uniform collar.

“Take this seriously,” he warned, leaning in close enough the Parker stretched his neck away. “We’re keeping Y/n’s involvement between just a few of us here in the precinct. The media’s in the dark about this for now and we have to keep it that way. Hydra doesn’t know there was a witness and I don’t want that changing, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Parker replied firmly. The second Bucky pulled back, the kid’s smile widened enough to take up his whole face. “I’m Peter. You can come with me, Miss Y/L/n.”

“You can call me Y/n, you know?”

“Don’t bother,” Bucky rolled his eyes, though you could sense the amusement under it. “He’s got an authority complex. Can’t be informal if he tried.”

“Oh, I see,”

“You coming, Miss Y/l/n?” he called from the end of the precinct. _How did he get that far so fast?_

You nodded, turning quickly to Bucky. “Well, thanks. I guess I’ll see you around?”

“’Course, can’t forget about my key witness,” he grinned.

You smiled, quick to push aside the fluttering in your chest. You had started to walk away when you heard Bucky curse behind you, as if a realization clicked. He jogged back up to you, grabbing you gently by the elbow to pull you to a stop.

“You’re not going back to the bar tonight, right?” he asked, concern in his eyes as he studied you.

You shrugged, pulling away from his grasp softly before you started walking again towards Peter. You hadn’t even considered not opening. “I gotta pay the bills, Bucky.”

“W-wait, hold on now–”

“I have to keep my electricity running and I’ll have customers wondering why I’m not opening,” you insisted. “You want to keep this quiet? I gotta show up. They’ll know something’s amiss if I don’t.”

“Let me assign protective detail at least,” Bucky countered, now walking backwards as you crossed half the length of the station to where Peter was waiting.

“Not necessary.”

“Y/n, you’re a witness to a hydra hit–”

“–which they know nothing about,” you finished, forcing out a tight smile. “You said that yourself. Can’t be in danger if they don’t know anyone even saw it happen.” You paused, only a few feet away from the young officer waiting eagerly by the door. “I’ll be fine. Plus, I have that business card of yours tucked away somewhere. I’ll call if I need to.”

Bucky released a heavy exhale, hands planted on his hips as he reluctantly watched you make your way out the door.

“You better.”

***

Officer Parker – or Peter as he insisted relentlessly you call him – had been the welcomed distraction you needed. He looked young for his age, like maybe he belonged in high school, but he swore he was fresh out the of academy and even showed you his badge to prove it. The kid didn’t stop talking for even a second as he drove you home, not even when he asked you questions. He’d paused, give you about two seconds to respond, before he was answering his own damn question and off on a new tangent. He was a sweet kid, one you didn’t mind having around one bit.

He had come up to your apartment, cautiously inspecting the locks and hinges, eyeing up and down the hallway for cameras that didn’t belong – said it was on Detective Barnes’ orders. You had smiled at that.

After Peter left, you had forced yourself to sleep, too exhausted to do much of anything else. When the sound of a car alarm woke you a few hours later, you tried to make busy around the apartment. You cleaned the kitchen, swept the floors, washed down the bathroom and did two loads of laundry and it was only two in the afternoon. 

Unable to sit still in your dingy apartment any longer, you made your way down the street to your bar. You hadn’t been able to finish cleaning up shop the previous night for obvious reasons and you wanted to make sure nothing looking amiss by the time opening came around.

Barnes held true to his word that the media was in the dark about it – the shooting, Charlie’s murder, you as a witness, all of it – which meant that you’d find your regulars waltzing in like they usually do. The newspapers hadn’t gotten word of it at least, and you were sure to check a few of them yourself as you walked by the corner store.

Had to keep up appearances, pay the bills. It was what you were telling yourself anyway. Routine was essential to your survival. Sitting alone in that apartment all day and let your mind wander felt like a worse sentence than Hydra discovering you.

Hands tucked tightly in the pockets of your jacket, you slowed your pace down as you passed the alley next to the bar. You came to a stop and a man behind you had to skid out of your way at the last second, cursing and grumbling under his breath as he continued walking.

There was no crime scene tape up, no evidence markers or silly white chalk drawn in the pavement. No proof at all that anything had happened in this alley – that a man had died in this alley. There wasn’t even blood stained into the gravel. The rain had taken care of that.

Carefully, you made your way down the dark alley, glancing up at the light above the backdoor to the bar to discover it was now fully operational. You sighed and bent down to pick up the broom you had dropped the previous night. Unlocking the door, you stepped inside.

It was just as you left it. Not that it should be a surprise, but it felt like something should be different. You were different, you supposed.

You spent the next few hours tediously cleaning the floors, the bathrooms, restocking the shelves, and washing through the glasses twice. Couldn’t stand still for even a moment, you had even starting wiping down the walls when the bell rang out and the first two patrons strolled in.

“Smells like Lysol in here, Y/n,” the bigger of the two men, a guy called Vinny, grumbled as he pinched his nose. His twin brother Leonard swatted his shoulder, urging him to be nice. Vinny made a look of disgust before he gestured for his usual. You swung yourself around the bar, thankful to have some company as you held a glass under the tap. “I liked it better when this place smelled like stale beer.”

“Thanks, Vinny,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. Leonard apologized for his brother before leading him back to their usual spot. Odd pair, those two.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the crowd to gather. You didn’t have much of a free moment to think, and that was exactly what you were hoping for. Bustling around from one end of the bar to the other, grabbing empty glasses and refilling drinks. The clientele usually kept their orders simple – beer, hard liquor, occasionally thrown in with some coke. Every once in a while, you’d find a brave soul who’d ask for something frozen or colorful, topped with one of those little umbrellas you’d bought a pack of when you first reopened the bar years back and had used five since. They’d get shit for it, but the ones with the thickest skin would come back for more.

It was nearing nine when the bell rang. Most of your customers came in around six and didn’t leave until two in the morning at close. The stragglers in between were ones you didn’t usually recognize but not this one.

Bucky Barnes sauntered in, hands in his pockets and a shake of his head when he saw you standing behind the bar. “I thought I told you this was a bad idea.”

“And I thought I made it pretty clear I wasn’t gonna listen,” you said simply, handing Bernie his third glass of beer. You wiped your hands on your towel before reaching for Bucky’s usual choice. You set a short glass in front of him as he sat and began filling it. It was a heavy pour. He noticed.

“Which is why I assigned protective detail,” Bucky said he picked up the glass and took a sip. He was getting better about not wincing as it went down.

“I said no, Barnes! I can’t have cops running around this place, it’ll scare off my customers!”

“Relax, doll,” Bucky chuckled and you felt your heart skip at the nickname, “It’s just me. I’m the detail.”

You narrowed your eyes, swallowing back the butterflies in your stomach. “I thought Captain Rogers said you were working too much overtime.”

“What Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Bucky shrugged. “Besides, the one-four ain’t got a say in what I do in my free time.”

You paused. “You’re off duty?”

“You think I’d be drinking if I wasn’t?”

“I’m just,” you ran your fingers through your hair in an attempt to hide the red forming in your cheeks, “surprised, I guess. Don’t know why you’d use your own time just to look out for me.”

“Who says that’s what I’m here for?” Bucky smirked. “Maybe I like my bourbon really shitty. Maybe I was getting used to being a bit of a regular in this joint and I’m stuck in my ways. It’s too late for me now.”

“Yeah maybe,” you laughed, folding your arms as you leaned against the bar.

Bucky took a sip from the glass, keeping your stare as he swirled the last remaining sip in the glass before he threw back that one, too. He paused. A shrug.

“Maybe I just like the bartender.”

“Don’t let Stark hear you say that,” you retorted quickly, pushing yourself off the bar and brushing away any sincerity you heard in his words as his typical banter. You reached for a clean glass as you saw Leonard coming up for the second round. “You’ll get in trouble for flirting with the witness again.”

Bucky nodded, smiling to himself as he watched you pull the handle for the tap. You were talking with Leonard, laughing softly as he pointed back to his brother across the room who was clearly whistling along to the Dolly Parton song that he had thrown on the jukebox.

You didn’t notice Bucky’s eyes on you. Under his breath, too quiet for you to hear, “I’ll take my chances.”


	3. Three

Like clockwork, Bucky came staggering into the bar around nine at night for the next two weeks straight, still wearing his button-down shirts and badge hanging proudly from his belt or on a lanyard around his neck. Sleeves rolled up at the elbow and hair always perfect coiffed. Your patrons had gotten used to having him around. He was getting a few less dirty looks every time he walked in, anyway. Brenda had taken a liking to him and hard started calling him names like ‘sugar’ and ‘pretty boy’ which Bucky took happily in stride.

He’d flash you that charming smile as he took his usual seat and you filled his glass, waving him off when he tried to pay for it, though he still found a way to sneak it into the tip jar when your back was turned.

He’d tell you about his partner, Sam (who apparently drove him completely nuts) and Captain Rogers, or Steve as he called him, who was his best friend growing up and used to be as intimidating as a twig before puberty took a number out on him. He’d tell you about his ma and sister who lived out in Brooklyn and the last time he went to a Yankee’s game when he was a kid. He’d ask you about what you did outside of the bar, and you’d just laugh at him and tell him the truth – that you spent your life between these walls and didn’t have the time for much else.

Between runs down the bar to fill up the glasses of inpatient customers who’d find themselves waiting a bit longer than they should be because you were caught up in conversation, you’d tell Bucky about good memories you had of your father – how he wasn’t just the man who trafficked drugs for a vile organization but how he was also a good father with a kind heart who missed his wife. You’d tell him you still go to the penitentiary to visit once a month, even seven years since he was locked away by the DEA. You’d tell him about the time a few of the regulars had chipped in to replace the window that had a brick thrown through it a few years back when you were first wiping the ledger clean in this bar and how much pride you held for it, despite what people thought of you or your customers.

If Bucky was ever bored with your stories, he never once let on. He’d smile softly, nodding as you spoke, asking questions here and there between sips of his drink. You’d find yourself laughing so hard you doubled over when Brenda would drunkenly hit on him for the fourth time in a night and he’d turn her away so politely, you couldn’t help but wonder how much practice he had with women throwing themselves at him.

He was handsome, there was no denying that. Eyes that blue and a jaw line that could slice through marble were enough to make anyone stop and stare for a moment too long. With each night he came into your bar without fail, already telling you about the new stunt Sam pulled that nearly made him strangle the poor man before he even took a seat, made your stomach flutter. Pushing it aside wasn’t as easy as you thought.

It was nearing on the three-week mark since the night in the alley and Bucky was sitting in his usual spot at the bar, two glasses in. He was resting his head on his hand, elbow propped up against the bar. Eyes were slowly falling shut, upper body slumping forward a few inches before he jumped back up, took another sip from the glass, and started the process again.

You smiled to yourself as you watched him, forgetting for a moment you were filling someone’s glass with tequila before you felt the liquid pour over the sides and onto your hand.

“ _Oh shit,_ ” you recoiled, flinching at the sensation and setting the glass down on the bar as you reached for a clean towel. Quickly brushing yourself off and then sweeping the now wet towel against the bar to clean up the rest of the wasted alcohol, your sole tequila-on-the-rocks-with-a _-splash_ -of-sprite customer was grinning wildly at you.

“You are being obvious as hell, kiddo,” he said amusingly, eyes trailing between you and the half-sleeping Detective at the other end of the bar. He bent down to the bar and slurped at the overflowing glass until it was stable enough to pick up.

You squinted your eyes, following his stare down to Bucky before you forced out a scoff, feigning some level of offense. “You better get your eyes checked, Benny.”

Benny puckered his lips, always searching for gossip around this bar and waited for you to change your mind. He’d take any kind of new information he could get; who was sleeping with who, who spent the night in jail, whose brother the cops were after, he wanted to know it all; coveted people’s secrets like they were collectables. You always liked Benny, but he was not someone you wanted to know your business – not that Barnes was _your_ business or anything.

When you didn’t back down, Benny huffed, waving his arms at you before he picked his glass back up and quickly made his way back to his table.

Unable to stop the smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you made your way down the bar to Bucky. His cheek was currently sliding down his palm, mouth agape and eyes closed.

A brief moment of silence as he let out a snore. You smirked, and then, “Hey there!”

Bucky snapped up, arms flailing out to the sides to steady himself on the stool as you sprung forward to grab ahold of his drink before he knocked it on the floor. He was blinking rapidly, trying to catch his bearings. He froze, still as a statue.

“Go home, Barnes,” you told him, shaking your head with a heart-filled laugh as he looked up to you through heavy eyelids.

“N-no, I’m good, doll,” Bucky yawned, doing his best to throw you a smile that looked like it took just about all of his energy to produce. His lids were already falling heavy. 

“You can’t be doing your shift at the station and then sitting here to watch me bartend until two in the morning every night. You’re exhausted.” You sighed, folding your arms as Bucky started to shake his head defiantly. “Besides, there hasn’t been an inkling that Hydra knows anything about me. You don’t have to be here.”

“I told you, doll,” Bucky suppressed another yawn, “this bourbon is just,” he took a sip, though this time he couldn’t hold back the grimace he as swallowed and forced out an unconvincing smile, “so good.”

“You don’t have to do this, Bucky,” you chuckled. “I’m fine here. Go get some sleep. Besides, how are you going to help me if something does happen and you’re passed out at the bar?”

“How am I gonna help you if I’m not even here?” he retorted, only half joking, as he raised an eyebrow. There was a glow of confidence woven into the curve of his lips, believing he got one up on you. 

It was then that you reached under the bar, pressing the few buttons of a combination and the door popped open. Your hand felt around the rifle until it set on a thin, small card. You pulled it out, pursing your lips into a smirk. Bucky took one look at the card and his face fell. He let out an exasperated groan that threatened to tug a smile from your cheeks. 

“I believe I have this for a reason, huh?”

“But-”

“Go home, Detective,” you urged sincerely. “Can’t have you doing a half-assed job protecting the people of New York when you’re barely awake to do so. I’ve got plenty of back up here.” You gestured towards the crowd drinking happily at the tables behind him.

Bucky’s shoulders slumped. “Been a while since I’ve had a good eight hours. I might’ve forgotten how.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you smiled, prying the empty glass from his hand.

“Fine, fine,” Bucky succumbed, but not before he reached out and snagged the business card from your hand. 

You watched him curiously as he pulled a pen from his pocket and started to scribbled a number on the back. Thick, black ink in messy handwriting detailing what looked like a phone number. It was different than the one printed on the front, you noticed. 

Satisfied, he handed it back to you. 

You eyed it suspiciously. “What’s this?”

“If something goes wrong, like seriously wrong,” he started, a sincerity in his features that caught you off guard, “you call the number on the back. Number on the front is our desk at the station but the one on the back will reach me no matter where I’m at. Doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’ll pick up. I swear it on my life.”

“Bucky,” you gaped, taken back as you shook your head and tried to give the card back to him, “you don’t-“

“Yes, I do,” he countered sternly, though he gave you a smile and pushed your hand back gently. “You call that number and I promise I’ll be here as fast as I possibly can. Your emergency contact, remember?”

You smiled, remembering fondly. You brushed your thumb over the dried ink of messy writing before you surprised yourself by placing it in your back pocket instead of the safe. You turned back to Bucky whose eyes were already falling heavy again. You sighed, shaking your head with a laugh.

“I don’t want to see you here tomorrow, you hear me?”

“But, Y/n-”

“Promise me,” you demanded and he let out a dramatic sigh. “Promise me you’ll get some sleep. You don’t need to be here every night, Bucky. I can handle myself. You know that.”

“Hard to forget the first time I met you,” Bucky nodded, a glimmer of the memory in his eyes as he glanced down at the spot behind the bar where you kept your rifle stored away.

“Good,” you quipped, jumping around the bar and yanking him up from the stool. You pushed him towards the door. “Now get out of here!”

He was laughing, the sound so sweet it made your stomach twist, as he dragged his feet towards the door. You let go of his back and leaned against the bar, folding your arms over your chest, as you watched him slump towards the exit. He paused, turning over his shoulder for one last look and you pointed sharply towards the door. He shook his head, hair ruffling into his eyes, though it didn’t obstruct the smile upon his lips.

The door closed behind him and you pushed aside the ache that already missed him.

***

Bucky held true to his word. You didn’t see him the next night, or the one after that. An unsettled feeling started to develop in your stomach whenever you glanced down at the end of the bar where he usually sat, the stool empty as it awaited his company.

It was nearing nine when the bell above the door chimed just loud enough to be heard over ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ playing on the speakers. The lime you were squeezing into Mosely’s jack and coke ended up more in your hand than it did in the glass as your attention diverted to the door.

In strolled Bucky Barnes, bouncing down the steps with a grin spread across his face and a newfound energy you hadn’t seen in him since you met. He paused when he caught you watching him and winked before he settled in at his usual seat. 

“Uhhh… Y/n?” Mosely’s voice pulled you from your daze. You raised an eyebrow, and he pointed to your hand where lime juice was currently dripping down your wrist. You raised your hand, examining the drips as they started to run down your forearm, tickling the skin as they fell. 

“Sorry, Mose,” you muttered, gaze flickering down at Bucky as he sat hunched over his phone. He had already reached behind the bar to grab his empty bourbon glass.

Mosely snorted, clearly amused as you went to squeeze another lime wedge for him, this time getting most of the juice inside the glass. You dropped it inside and pushed it down to the bottom with the stirrer.

“Thanks, kid,” Mosely said he put a few singles on the counter. You nodded in appreciation and picked up the bills, setting them in the tip jaw behind the bar.

Brushing your hands over the towel sitting on your hip, you took and deep breath and walked down the length of the bar to where Bucky sat. His head perked up as he heard you coming and he set his phone aside.

“Hey stranger,” he drawled, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips and you found yourself drawn down to them. They were full, pink, with a faded scar towards the end of his lower lip that must have been from a nasty fight, never fully healed.

Realizing what you were doing, you quickly turned to the shelf, swiping your hair over your ears in hopes to hide the redness there as you grabbed the bottle of bourbon. He was smiling at you, eyes tracing over just about every feature on your face as you poured his drink. You furrowed your brow, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, clearly more observant than you gave him credit for. Though to your relief, he didn’t say anything if he noticed you staring at him. He took a sip of the drink and only pouted a little as it went down. “You miss me?”

“I think it might inflate your ego too much if I said I did,” you chuckled, wiping down the counter next to him.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes,’” Bucky grinned into his drink as he took another sip. “You know, I took your advice, actually got some sleep. Turns out, the bags under my eyes aren’t permanent. Who knew?”

“Wow, Barnes, I’m so proud of you; acting like a functioning human being,” you teased and he feigned offense.

“The key word is ‘acting’, ain’t it?”

You shrugged, trying to hide your laugh under your breath to avoid giving him the satisfaction. Reaching out to wipe down the counter on his other side, you realized Bucky was staring below your eyeline, down towards your chest. 

“That’s an interesting necklace,” he commented curiously. You looked down, realizing it had fallen out from behind your shirt again. A blush crept up your cheeks. Usually, you’d hide it away whenever someone mentioned it, but Bucky was more understanding of your father than most.

You reached up to grab the necklace, fiddling with it between your fingers. “My father gave it to me before he was arrested. He said it was supposed to protect me. Don’t know what from; my own anxiety, I guess. Sometimes just holding it in my hand makes me feel better.”

You didn’t even know why you were telling him this. You’d never told anyone. Face heating again, you cleared your throat and tucked the pendent down your shirt again. Bucky sent you a sweet kind of smile, understanding.

“It’s a nice sentiment,” he replied sincerely, taking a sip from his drink.

Someone called your name down at the end of the bar, snapping you from your bubble. Bucky nodded at you to go, encouraging you with a gentle push as he reached over the bar. He was the only one you let do that.

Hours passed by and Bucky was still sitting at his spot. You refilled his glass a few times and brought him over a cup of water when his eyes started to fall heavy and his speech began to slur. Usually, he spent an hour or so, stayed until midnight at the latest, but now, it was coming up on one-thirty and you were closing soon.

“How you doing down here, Detective?” you chimed, smiling as Bucky lifted his head from the counter, a slow curve of his lips as he looked up at you under those thick lashes of his.

“I’m good, doll,” he replied, a slight slur of his words as he raised his thumb from his fist. He took a drink of the water next to him.

“I’m sure you are,” you commented, a laugh under your breath. You were about to head to the other end to restock the pretzel bowls when Bucky’s spoke up again.

“How are _you,_ Y/n?”

“I’m fine, Bucky,” you replied quickly, but he shook his head, eyes narrowing.

“No, how _are_ you? Seriously,” Bucky asked again, his voice a little stronger now as he met your eye. A kind of concern washed over his features. “It’s been a month.”

Your jaw clamped tight and you bit your tongue, wincing at the sting of it. You swallowed back the coppery taste and shrugged as if your heart hadn’t picked up in pace at the thought of that night in the alley.

“I’m good.” You were barely convincing yourself, let alone the Detective sitting across the bar, studying you. Bucky parted his lips to say something but you interjected before he could. “What other choice do I have? Just be afraid all the time?” You leaned in closer, eyes darting over Bucky’s shoulder to make sure the remaining patrons were out of earshot, “Hydra still doesn’t know anything about me, right?”

Bucky nodded quickly, his hand jutting out and setting over yours. You glanced down at it as his fingers curled underneath and squeezed lightly. His hand was big, covering most of yours easily, and rough under the palm, like he spent summers growing up doing yard work and working in a garage. His thumb absentmindedly traced circles against your skin. You shivered.

“They know nothing about you, Y/n, I promise,” he whispered, sobering up fast, the sincerity in his tone making your heart jump. “I’ve got people I trust on this case hunting down leads and working hard to nail this asshole. We’ll take good care of you, doll.”

You nodded, eyes still glued to his hand wrapped tightly over yours. He must have noticed your gaze as he slowly pulled his hand back. You pushed aside the urge that craved the warmth he took with him.

“So, have you?” you started, and Bucky raised an eyebrow, “Found any leads?”

Bucky sighed, running his hand over his face. “Hydra is… very good at covering their tracks. No one’s talking. But we’re not giving up, doll. I made a promise to you, didn’t I?”

You forced out a smile, not entirely convinced, though you did your push to shove it down behind a closed door in the back of your conscious where you’d been keeping your anxiety and paranoia locked away since it happened.

Bucky was watching you, blue eyes scanning over your face as his hand reached out towards you again.

“I’m putting a new policy in place,” you quipped, pulling your hand back from the counter before Bucky could hold it again. He didn’t seem phased by it, always so patient, as he let you change the subject abruptly without question. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Three nights a week,” you responded casually. “That’s all you get. Choose wisely.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. “No, absolutely not! I got my rest like you told me to. I’m good!”

“That’s the thing, Bucky. You kinda need to do that on a nightly basis,” you chuckled.

“I don’t think my body could physically deal with eight hours of sleep on the regular. I’m meant to thrive in deprivation,” he countered, batting his eyes at you. The twist of nerves in your stomach didn’t go unnoticed.

“Well, you can thrive three nights a week then.” You grabbed his empty bourbon glass from the counter and set it in the sink. You reached over and rang the bell for last call, alerting the few remaining stragglers you were coming up on closing.

You didn’t know why you were so adamant about keeping Bucky out of your bar. Whether it was when he was first passing out on the countertop or now, setting this rule about only letting him sit at the end of your bar a few nights a week. Perhaps you had started to notice the way your heart swelled when he walked in the door or the nerves fluttering in your stomach whenever he smiled at you, and it was getting too much. Perhaps you just genuinely were looking out for his well-being. It couldn’t be healthy for him to operate on so little sleep, plus he didn’t need a reputation that came with hanging around in this kind of bar on a nightly basis.

Regardless, you pushed aside the ache in your chest as you stuck to your guns.

“I don’t know,” Bucky started but you held your hand up.

“You just said they don’t know anything about me and you’ve got no leads. It’s practically a cold case.” You quickly refilled Al’s glass as he handed it to you and sent him a warning glance to finish that thing before you shut down. He was a familiar with that particular type of look.

Bucky rubbed at his temples. “I guess, but-“

“Do you argue with your friends as much as you argue with me?” you asked, the teasing in your voice eliciting a spark behind his eyes as he smirked back at you. He leaned over the bar, resting on his forearms.

“You hurt me, doll,” he feigned offense, winking at you. “Here I thought _we_ were friends.”

You laughed, hoping he didn’t see the flush in your cheeks, though you knew him better than that.

“Whatever you say, Buck.”

***

It took another night of convincing, but he finally agreed to an every-other-day basis. That was until his caseload forced him into coming more sporadically when yet another month had come and gone with no word from Hydra and no leads on the man in the alley.

Two months of _nothing._

No word. No leads. Just business as usual, save for the charming brunette detective showing up once every few days to check in on you. The lack of progress in the case didn’t seem to stop the nervous ticks and paranoid looks over your shoulder when you found yourself alone at night, it seemed.

Five nights had gone by since you saw Bucky last. You found yourself glancing down at his empty spot at the bar, missing his lighthearted teasing and stories from the one-four more often than you cared to admit.

When he finally did come back, he came barreling up to the bar, reaching over the barrier to grab a glass and waited patiently for you to notice him. He really needed a drink, no matter how shitty it was.

“Rough day?” you inquired, giving him a heavier pour than usual. He nodded in thanks before chugging down half of it. You winced as he set it back on the counter rather loudly.

“Sorry, doll,” Bucky sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Guess I went too long without a drink, huh?”

“Apparently,” you chuckled under your breath as you refilled his glass before he could finish.

He shrugged, bringing the glass slowly up to his lips. “Missed my favorite bartender, too.”

“Careful, Barnes,” you warned, shaking your head in a soft laugh and trying hide the flush in your cheeks as he took another, more reasonable, sip of the bourbon. A smirk began to fill his face as he carefully set it back against the bar.

“I think if I was the careful type, I’d be in the wrong profession, huh?”

“Seems that way,” you agreed, moving a few paces down the bar to serve another round to one of Brenda’s buddies. You pulled the lever of the tap, but turned your head in Bucky’s direction to continue, saying, “Can’t imagine you’d be hanging around a bar like this if you had any self-preservation instincts, anyway.”

This got him laughing, biting on the skin of his lip trying to suppress it just to keep your own ego in check. He took a heavier sip from his glass.

Five hours later and it was coming up on closing. There still he was, sitting at the bar, nursing the bourbon he hated so much. He stared off at the bottles of liquor lining the shelves behind the bar, almost as if in a trance, before his phone would beep and occupy his time for a few moments.

You’d catch him glancing down in your direction, not looking to wave you over, but just to watch as you’d interact with the patrons, wipe down the counters, refill beer glasses, and mix drinks. It set a kind of nervousness in your stomach, one that was different from the tinging in your veins when he’d flirt shamelessly with you across the bar and send you that flashy smile of his.

In the moments he didn’t think you noticed, he studied you with the kind of careful precision that suggested he carried more intention behind his words than he let on. Flirty banter and casual conversation were one thing, but adamantly insisting that he spend his free time sitting across from you at the bar to keep an eye out for potential Hydra threats was another. He may tease and joke and pretend that he’s only here for the shitty bourbon, but you could sense there was more than that.

And it terrified you.

It had been a busier night than you were expecting. Big Al had brought in a group of friends who had rode in from Texas, bringing the bar to near capacity. Bikers were a rowdy type of folk and they kept you on your toes, refilling their glasses once every few minutes. Tips were pouring in so fast you had to empty out the jar twice, so you couldn’t complain, even if it left you without time to linger casually down the bar by Bucky.

The men and women clad in leather vests had their arms around one another, beer sloshing out the sides of the glasses, as they sang along, rather off-key, to ‘Piano Man’. It was amusing, to say the least, and you found yourself humming along under your breath.

You were refilling the pretzel bowl at the end of the bar when a sudden clanging noise sounded over the music; one that was too familiar - it stuck in your head and rang so deafening it was all you could hear - one that sent you spiraling back to the night in the alley.

It rang out again and you dropped the pretzel container, heart pounding violently in your chest as the contents spilled to the floor. It was like everything was happening in slow motion, like you were running under water, your limbs too heavy.

None of the patrons seemed to notice.

You couldn’t breathe.

Stumbling back, you felt your breath hitch, hands starting to shake as a numbness spread over your skin. You couldn’t focus, not on the biker gang singing karaoke, or on Bucky who was calling your name cautiously from the other end of the bar. Double vision, a ringing in your ears – _you had to get out of here._

Hands gripping against the bar for support, you dragged yourself from behind the barrier and stumbled towards the wall. You couldn’t think straight, not with your breaths coming in so rapidly. You had to get somewhere else, _anyone else,_ before someone saw you like this. The back office was only a few feet away. You’d hide there until it passed – _it had to pass, right?_ – and then you’d be fine.

You nearly collapsed against the door, hand fumbling frantically to open it, before you stumbled inside. Using the desk for support, you did your best to keep yourself on your feet, despite the dizziness threatening to take over. Shaking hands desperately clawed at the necklace, gripping it so tight it was sure to leave marks in your palms. It did nothing to ease your racing heart.

Legs nearly collapsed under you when you felt large hands set on your arms. You spun around, eyes wide with panic, only to find Bucky with his hands raised cautiously, worry evident upon his features as he took in your state.

“It’s me, doll,” he soothed, reaching out towards you. “It’s just me. I need you to breathe for me, okay? Can you do that?”

You nodded quickly, desperately, but you couldn’t catch your breath if you tried.

Even through your haze, you could tell he was afraid to touch you, hands just inches from your skin, ready to catch you again if you started to fall. You leaned against the desk, feeling light-headed. You tried to focus on his chest, watch the rise and fall as he breathed, but it was no used. Your grip on the desk was becoming painful. 

“I have something I could try,” Bucky exhaled nervously, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m gonna just do it okay? And if you need me to stop you tell me. Hit me or pinch me or something. Okay, doll?”

The look of uncertainty didn’t have a chance to graze your face before suddenly Bucky’s arms were around you and you were being pulled so tight against his chest it was like he was holding on for dear life. Your cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his cologne and aftershave through hyperventilated breaths, you held your arms down by their sides, feeling too weak to do much of anything else. Your eyes were watering from the exertion.

Bucky was talking to you, trying his best to soothe you as he rubbed careful circles on your back, though you had a hard time making out what he was saying. His chest vibrated as he spoke, his heart beat pounding against your ear, and he readjusted his arms, gathering as much of you as he could against him.

Agonizingly slow, your breathing started to come back down. Sluggish arms found their way around his waist, wrapping themselves around him. He let out a sigh of relief you felt with every inch of your body.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but when he started to pull back, it felt too soon. He clenched his jaw in a nervous smile as he brushed his hands on his jeans.

“You okay now?”

You nodded slowly, too transfixed on the how his body had felt pressed so tightly against yours.

“My, uh, my sister used to get panic attacks when she was a kid,” Bucky said, sitting on the edge of your desk. “That kind of compression used to be the only thing that calmed her down.”

While you were able to breathe again, you found your heart still racing, not enough that it was thudding painfully in your chest, but enough to notice it picked up whenever he was looking at you.

“That was quick thinking,” you said clinically, trying to detach yourself from the thoughts rummaging in your mind.

“What set it off?” he asked, those blue eyes of his studying you carefully.

You folded your arms over your chest, looking away from him. A flush crept into your cheeks. “It was nothing – some loud noise outside. Reminded me of… that night, I guess. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Bucky replied sincerely, warmly, pushing himself off the desk and taking a step closer to you. You stared down at his shoes, brown wingtips sitting under the hem of navy slacks. A soft pressure under your chin, and his fingers lifted your face up to his. “You gotta cut yourself some slack, Y/n. What you saw that night would mess with anyone.” A pause. Then, “has this happened before? Since that night?”

You shrugged, stepping back from him, feeling too exposed under his stare. “Once or twice.” Concern flashed over his features but you waved him off before he could speak. “I’ve been home when it happened and I was able to calm down on my own.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Bucky sighed and you could hear the hurt in his voice.

“Was I supposed to call the cops every time I hear a loud noise or think I see a shadow over my shoulder?” you huffed out defensively. You didn’t even know why you were arguing with him.

“I gave you my card, doll,” Bucky said gingerly, always so patient with you. “I’m not asking you to call 9-1-1, I’m asking you to call _me_.”

“ _Why?_ ” you snapped before you could stop yourself. “Why do you care so much? I’m just some witness to a murder that doesn’t even seem to matter since you haven’t found a single lead and Hydra doesn’t know a thing about me. It’s been two months, Bucky, you don’t have to keep comin’ here. Your conscious can be clean, ok?”

Bucky paused, furrowing his brow. He was chewing on the inside of his lip, folding his arms over his chest. He adjusted his stance. “If you think I’m coming around because you’re _‘just some witness’,_ you’re not paying attention.”

Your breath hitched. The way he was looking at you, with such sincerity and a longing in his features he tried so hard to mask, you couldn’t help the knots pulling in your stomach. It was too much, too overwhelming, to have this man you had come to rely on, to expect, to miss when he was gone, to want you for something other than professional gain. He just wanted _you._

You swallowed back the thunderous pulsing in your chest and tucked a strand of hair behind you ear. Eyes darting to the ground, you said, “I should get back out there. People are probably wantin’ to know where I went.”

Bucky nodded, running his hand over his mouth though the flicker of disappointment didn’t escape your notice. “Yeah, I should go, too. It’s getting late.”

Brushing past him, you felt the tips of his fingers graze yours though you quickly pulled away, too afraid of the electricity jolting through you. You held open the door for him, and watched as he sauntered out, a tired look about him. You made your way back to the bar as you quickly attended to the rush of people waiting for you to refill their glasses, but your eyes were held solely on Bucky as he picked up his half-filled glass and threw back the remaining liquid. He set a few dollars on the counter and stalked off towards the exit.

You did your best to ignore the burning ache in your chest.


	4. Four

When Bucky didn’t come back to the bar for a few days after the events in your office, you started to get nervous. It wasn’t the kind of nervous where you were constantly wondering where he was at or what he was doing or why he wasn’t coming back or if it was your fault for pushing him away.

No – while those were on your mind, you found that his absence in the bar left behind a certain feeling of unease, like you couldn’t relax without knowing he was only a few feet away at any given moment. You’d lost your sense of security.

You were able to handle your own shit before him, weren’t you? What the hell happened?

Before you knew it, you were jumping at every loud noise. Looking over your shoulder the entire walk back to your apartment at night after your shift. Flinching at unexpected touches on your shoulder by your own patrons and spending most of your time alone with your keys nestled between your knuckles.

Nothing seemed to be able to make you feel safe like Bucky did– and he didn’t do much besides drink his shitty bourbon and make stupid jokes. You knew you were falling reliant on him and it was never more evident than it was when you found yourself holding his business card in your right hand, fiddling anxiously with your necklace in the left. 

Sweat lined your palms and your heart was beating frantically. The sudden clanging of a glass falling from the highest shelf when your back was turned had set it off. You were in control of it, enough to catch your breath and stand on your own feet, but you knew he’d be the only one that could make this feeling go away. Maybe he could just talk you down. He wouldn’t have to come all the way out here. He was a good man. He’d help you through this even if he was avoiding you after what happened–

 _No_ , _don’t be stupid_ —you groaned as you set your phone back on the bar. Maybe there was a reason he hadn’t been back since your panic attack. Maybe it was too much for him and he wanted out of whatever this was. You were too complicated, not as strong as you pretended you were. He saw through it. He decided he was done.

You stared down at the business card, messy numbers written out in black ink, as the memory of his face came into view; the way he had bit on his lip as he wrote and the touch of his fingers against yours when he handed the card back you. The tightness in your chest was only minimally relieved by a long, drawn out exhale. You were thankful it was still early enough that no one had come in for a drink yet.

Then, a ring of the bell at the door and you froze. In strolled Sam Wilson with a curious look upon his face as he glanced around. His eyes fell on the business card in your hand, then to your phone sitting on the countertop, before he trailed back up to your face with a raised eyebrow. You shoved the card into your back pocket.

“Hiya, Sam,” you called nervously. “Nice to see you again.”

He nodded, making his way over to the bar and taking a seat in Bucky’s usual spot. “It’s been a while, kid. Barnes has been taking up all your time, huh?”

“Think it might be the other way around since he’s the one showing up while I’m on shift. I don’t get a choice who I spend my time with when I’m working,” you commented with a smirk. Sam grinned back.

“You should tell him that. Throw his ego down a few pegs,” Sam proposed, with a mischievous look about him that you were sure Bucky had rolled his eyes at more times than he could count.

Your smile faltered slightly.

“He hasn’t come by since last week, actually. You might have to tell him,” you said, hoping your disappointment wasn’t as obvious as it sounded.

“That reminds me. It’s why I’m here.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Bucky’s been caught up in a case since last Thursday,” Sam started. You narrowed your eyes. Your panic attack at the bar was the night before. He continued, “Cap’s got us chasing down leads and we’re neck high in paperwork. There’s a case of low-level Hydra affiliates using a nail salon as a front for a sex trafficking ring and Barnes is convinced they can give us a lead on your gunman. Two birds; one stone. But Cap’s been really enforcing the overtime rule and I hit my mark.”

You nodded, still confused why he was telling you this.

“The point,” Sam drawled, clearly amused by your reaction, “is that Bucky sent me to check on you.”

_Oh._

Sam smiled, catching the flash of surprise and relief across your face. “I was supposed to come a few days ago, but you wouldn’t believe how much shit kept coming our way. Could barely eat and sleep with everything happening. Didn’t even think to send Parker over.”

“My phone here has been down for a while,” you added, and Sam nodded.

“Trust me, I know,” he chuckled. “Buck tried calling a few times and nearly lost it when he couldn’t get through. Took this long to realize the moron didn’t even have your cell number.”

A red flush burned in your cheeks. If Sam noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“Anyway,” he smiled, “after Bucky chewed me out for not swinging by earlier, figured I’d come check on you now. And look at that! You’re alive and well and perfectly fine! Just like I told him you’d be!”

This got you laughing, the kind that made you forget about the nerves in your stomach. Once it died down, you searched for the courage to ask what you really had been wanting to know.

“So that’s why he hasn’t been by? Because of the case you’re working on? Not for… uhm… any other reason?”

Sam smirked, studying your expression, though he let it go rather quickly. You wondered if he knew, if Bucky had told him about your complete melt down, how he’d had to hold you just to get you breathing again, and how you had given him the cold shoulder for his efforts.

“Trust me, Y/n,” Sam started, that infectious kind of energy about him already easing your worrying mind, “If I have to hear Barnes mumble under his breath about how he’s craving that poison of a bourbon you serve or how pissed he is that he’s stuck doing paperwork all night when he should be checking in on you, I’ll lose my damn mind.”

You exhaled, relief flooding through you. Sam smiled encouragingly.

“He wants to be here,” he said sincerely and you felt your heart skip a beat. “I don’t know what you were alluding to or if you’re worried that he wasn’t going to keep coming around for some reason, but from where I’m at, there’s not much that could keep him from this place. Besides, _you_ apparently. I heard you got him on a strict three nights a week rule?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, he was starting to fall asleep at the bar. Had to do something about that.”

“What an idiot,” Sam snickered. He glanced back at the clock you kept hanging above the framed baseball bat on the far left wall. He turned back to you and tapped his hands on the bar before standing up. “I should be heading out. I’ve got to get the sleep while I can. You gonna be alright?”

His eyes glanced down at your phone and you knew instantly he was referring to the business card he had caught you holding as he walked in.

You nodded, feeling rather silly for how paranoid you’d been lately. Perhaps it was all just under the fear that Bucky wouldn’t be coming back that the nerves had crept up in you. It didn’t seem like it was based on anything else, certainly not from an actual threat. Bucky had told you countless times you’d be the first to know if there were any leads. There was no reason to worry.

“I’m good, Sam,” you said truthfully. You tucked your hand into the back pocket of your jeans and felt the paper of the small business card. It warped easier now, not as stiff as it used to be; you handled it often and kept it stored with you at all times. It brought you a sense of comfort.

“Great, I’ll report that back to Detective Worries-for-Nothing.” Sam smirked, sending you a wave goodbye over his shoulder as he made his way to the door. “Have a good night, Y/n!”

“You too, Sam!”

***

The next night at the bar had been a slow one. Only half of your usual crowd showed up, and even then, they were mostly quiet, watching the baseball game streamed in pretty shitty, grainy quality on the one TV in the back. You’d have nights like this every once in a while, and sometimes they came as a welcome break. Tonight, you wished you had more to do. It was easier when you were busy. It was too easy to let your mind wander when you weren’t.

You kept thinking back to what Sam had said, about how Bucky would be here if he was able, about how he wasn’t avoiding you and you hadn’t necessarily fucked up what was going on between the two of you, whatever that was.

A fluttering in your stomach ached every time you thought back to what he had said.

_“If you think I’m coming around because you’re ‘just some witness’, you’re not paying attention.”_

You let out an exasperated groan as you shoved the broom back into the closet. The bar had emptied out an hour ago and you were getting ready to close up shop. You rubbed at your eyes, flaking mascara now upon the back of your hand. Throwing on your jacket, you headed for the door, keys set between your knuckles as you prepared yourself for your walk home.

Fingertips had barely brushed the knob of the door when suddenly it flung open forcefully and you were thrown back several feet, back hitting hard against the edge of the bar. A voice was muttering ‘ _get inside, get inside!’_ harshly under heavy breaths as a man spun around and slammed the door shut behind him.

Panic coursed through you as you struggled to get your bearings. Gripping tightly to the bar, you looked up to find Bucky sprinting towards you, panting heavily, sweat beaded on his forehead and gripping a newspaper in his hand. He tossed it onto the bar, his hands grasping at your shoulders as he yanked you closer towards him so he could get a better look. His eyes roamed over every inch of your face, then down your arms to your feet. You couldn’t tell what he was searching for, but he seemed to calm down the moment he didn’t find it.

“Thank God,” he exhaled, slumping into a bar stool. “You’re okay.”

You watched as he raked his fingers through his hair, and nudging the trail of sweat from his hairline. _Did he run here?_

“What the hell is going on?” you demanded, anxiety still hot in your veins. 

Bucky sighed, running his hand down his face. “You haven’t seen the paper yet, have you?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, I don’t usually re-“

“Parker noticed it before any of us did,” Bucky seethed. He grabbed the newspaper, his grip on it so tight that the paper crinkled harshly beneath his grasp. “Went the entire day with this out there and we had no idea. So fuckin’ oblivious to it. So goddamn stupid to not be checkin’ the papers.”

“Bucky,” you started, moving closer towards him, lowering your voice. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s fi-“

He gestured for you to take the paper, big blue eyes looking up at you apologetically, almost shamefully and it tugged at your heart. You watched him apprehensively as he shook the paper lightly, the crinkle of it the only sound in the room other than his labored breaths. His stare darted to the floor when you finally took the paper from him, unable to look at you any longer.

‘ _Police Cover Up Murder of Ex-Con Charles Homes’_ printed across the front page in strong, bold lettering. Just underneath it, smaller in front, wrote, ‘ _Witness Discovered at the Scene-’_

You gasped, the paper falling from your hands before you had a chance to read more. Your hands were shaking and you barreled them into fists thought that didn’t seem to stop the trembling.

“Oh my God.” You were feeling lightheaded and you fell back against the bar for support. Suddenly Bucky was standing in front of you again, his hands trailing soothingly up and down your arms.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he cooed softly. “Look at me, doll.”

You brought your eyes up to his and let yourself fall into the shades of blue, like the clear undertow of the current in the Atlantic, easily swept away.

“I read that article twenty times over and called down to the paper to threaten the author myself,” Bucky said, his hands still trailing restfully along your arms. You could hear the strain in his voice as he spoke though he tried to mask it. “There’s no mention of your name or anything that would even point to you. I don’t know how they got ahold of the story, but they aren’t budging on the source. All I know is they don’t have your name. You’re safe, Y/n. You’re safe.”

You nodded hesitantly, eyes flickering down to Bucky’s shoes. He must have sensed your unease, and a sigh left him, reaching out to gather you in his arms. You went willingly as he held you against his chest. His chin rested on the crown of your head and you could feel his heart thumping wildly despite the calm he exuberated. His hands were along your back now, tracing gentle circles in hopes to ease your anxiety.

You couldn’t help but think about the night in your office, the last time you had seen him nearly a week ago. He had held you like this. Then, it had been filled with tentativeness and trepidation despite the urgency. Now, standing so comfortably in his arms, your arm wrapped tightly around his waist, you held onto a sense of comfort you never thought you’d find in someone else. Relying on others wasn’t easy for you, but with him, in this moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, Y/n,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your hair and causing you to shiver. “You’re safe with me, doll. I promise, you’re safe with me.”

You knew.

Slowly your racing heart started to ease and Bucky’s grip on you loosened just enough that you could pull away when you were ready. His fingers continued to draw steady lines along your back, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. After what felt like hours, you sighed.

“What am I gonna do, Bucky?”

“I don’t know,” he exhaled and you could hear the nerves in his voice he was trying so hard to hide. “Steve said assigning a legitimate protective detail at this point will only draw suspicion and while Hydra may know there’s a witness, there’s nothing pointing to you. So, I talked with the team at the station. I’m gonna be here myself as much as I can, but if I can’t be, I’m sending someone I trust.”

“You’re not going to ask me to close the bar?” you inquired, surprised it wasn’t the first thing out of his mouth.

He shook his head, a frown pursed on his lips. “You’d never do it anyway. You care too much about this place to close shop even if there was a threat on your life. This bar means too much to you for that.”

You smiled softly against his chest, wondering where along the line he had come to know you so well.

“Parker will walk you from your apartment to the bar before you open and stay here for the stretch of time before my shifts ends and I can get here,” Bucky continued, outlining the plan he must have come up with as he ran halfway across the district. “I’ll stay here until close and I’ll walk you home. If I can’t be here, I’ll be sending Sam. Steve volunteered as well, and Nat, though I don’t think you met her yet. You’d like her. She’s small but she probably tougher than the rest of us. Stark is the only other one at the station that knows you’re the witness. He offered as well, but I think we’ll use him as a last resort, yeah?”

You nodded, cheek brushing on the fabric of his shirt, surprised when half of a laugh escaped you.

“You’re going to be okay, Y/n,” Bucky sighed and the slight break in his voice made you wonder if he wasn’t just trying to reassure you but himself as well. “I’ll make sure of it. I won’t stop until Hydra is taken down and you can be free of all this. You have my word. Everything’s gonna be alright. I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.”

A comfortable silence. A pause. Then, “You sure I’m worth all this, Buck?”

Bucky pulled back, enough so that he could meet your eye. There was a seriousness in his expression, an inkling of shock that you would even ask such a thing, as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He took a heavy breath.

“There is _nothing_ I am more sure of.”

Your breath hitched softly, thrown by the earnestness in his voice. His eyes flickered down to your lips, parted slightly. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Cautious, callused hands reached up slowly to brush a fallen hair behind your ear. They were warm on your skin and you let out a sigh as they grazed along your cheek. Blue eyes, filled with something you couldn’t quite place but were sure you’d like to spend eternity in, watched you carefully. He swallowed.

Slow movement. Leaning closer – so close that the warmth of his breath tingled along your face. Heart pounding heavy in your chest. A hesitant glance up at your eyes and you nod so subtly that you’re unsure if he sees it until you feel him pull you closer. His thumb brushing over your cheekbone, so carefully, gently, like he was handling something precious. His lips ghost so briefly against yours you gasp.

_DING-DING_

You pull apart instantly, breathless only from the anticipation, to find Sam barreling in from the doorway with Peter on his heels. They were both holding their guns at the ready, panting wildly with sweat dripping from their foreheads. By the time Sam got a look around the room to find it absent of threats, he groaned loudly and holstered his weapon.

“Shit, Barnes!” Sam huffed, blowing the sweat on his forehead. “You couldn’t have let us know it was clear?”

“Sorry, man,” Bucky grimaced, “was a little busy.”

“Yeah I can see,” Sam grunted back as he gestured between you and Bucky before he leaned over to rest his hands on his knees. Your cheeks flushed red and you scooted another foot away from Bucky.

“Hi Miss Y/l/n,” Peter waved awkwardly. “Glad to see everything’s alright Detective B.”

“We’re good here, guys,” Bucky said. “Thanks for the backup. I can take it from here and we’ll regroup in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam complained, waving his partner off. He turned to you, a noticeably different affect and a smile on his face. “Nice to see you as always, Y/n.”

With that, he grabbed Peter by the collar and started dragging him towards the door. Peter fumbled around for a bit before he gathered his footing and shook Sam from his grip. The ring of the door under the bell and then they were gone.

Your eyes trailed along the wooden floors, suddenly interested in the dust and pretzel crumbs hidden in the corners under the bar now that you were alone with Bucky. You kicked at the dust bunny floating along the floor by your feet.

“I should get you home,” he said suddenly, clearing his voice. “It’s getting late.”

You nodded, stealing a glance at Bucky as he leaned against the bar, wringing his hands nervously. Tucking your own hands into your pockets, you felt around for your keys. He led you to the door and opened it for you, the cool rush of night air sweeping into the bar and forcing you to shiver. Once you were outside, you turned to lock the door behind you. Out of habit, you slid two of the keys between your knuckles, dropping your fist down by your side. Bucky’s eyes glanced down at your hand and he frowned.

“You been worried about walking home for a while now, haven’t you?” he asked slowly, the guilt evident in his voice. It wasn’t so much a question as an observation.

You cursed under your breath, now realizing how you were holding the keys. You sent him an apologetic look and shoved the keys back in your pocket. You gestured to the left and started to lead him towards your apartment.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, running his fingers through his hair. “I shoulda been here more, especially after I knew you were having panic attacks.”

“Don’t apologize, Bucky,” you said, glancing up at him to find his eyes fixated on the sidewalk. “The work you do is important. You can’t drop every case for me.”

“I coulda been on Wilson to get here sooner, or sent Parker to check on you or walk you home,” he argued, though his voice was rather defeated. “But you won’t have to worry about that now. It won’t happen again.”

“You can’t be doing this forever, Buck,” you sighed. A lone pedestrian in a hurry came up on your left and you swerved out of his way, bumping into Bucky and he set his hand on your arm to help steady you. Once the man disappeared, Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly and put a few inched of distance between you.

“It’s just until we dismantle Hydra and they’re no longer a threat to you,” he answered nonchalantly.

“You say that like it can happen in a few weeks or like it’s even possible at all.”

“Witness protection is always an option,” he said carefully and your heart nearly dropped, “but I promise, Y/n, I won’t let that happen unless it’s absolutely necessary. It’ll uproot your whole life and they’ll send you away somewhere and I, I can’t let that happen because I-”

He bit down hard on his lip, eyes darting up to the night sky and suddenly the click of your boots felt heavy amongst the otherwise silent walk. You wondered how he would have finished that sentence.

Not another word was shared before you reached the entrance of your building. You paused, clearing your throat as Bucky had continued walking past without realizing you had stopped. You smiled to yourself as he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

“This is me,” you said, gesturing towards the black door amongst the sea of brick wall just a few steps above the sidewalk. It was rusted at the hinges and had metal bars where a window once was. Bucky clenched his jaw, eyeing it suspiciously.

“I’d like to check the inside, if that’s alright. Make sure it’s secure.”

“Peter did that a little over two months ago now, remember?”

He nodded, still looking at the door. “I know. But things have changed since then and I’ll sleep better tonight if I can take a look myself. Please?”

He turned to you now, the gentle hue of his eyes boring into yours, begging for you to say yes. With an exhale, you pressed out a tight-lipped smile and gestured for him to follow you up the stairs. You could practically feel Bucky looking over his shoulder behind the two of you as you made your way to the door. Shoving the key in the lock, you jiggled it a few times before twisting it back and forth to wedge it open.

“This always an issue?”

“Just gotta get it loose,” you muttered as the faint sound of a click popped and the door creaked open. Inside, the hall was dark, the light above the entrance had blown out a few days ago and the landlord hadn’t been back to fix it yet. Bucky was clearly taking note as he followed you closely on your heels down the short hallway to the second door on the left.

“First floor, huh?”

He was alluding to the window access. You nodded as you worked at the lock on your apartment door. Once you were able to unlatch that, you pushed open the heavy door and held it open for Bucky.

“There’s bars on the windows.” You pointed towards the two windows to the left. Thick black bars lined the open space, obstructing the view of the alley. You usually kept the window closed anyway. It smelled like garbage out that way.

Bucky was busy walking the perimeter of your apartment, checking the latches at the window and the locks on your door. He knelt down as he opened the front door again, pulling out a thin metal contraption and started messing with the lock. He let out a heavy sigh as it clicked open after he shoved the thin bar in the lock and jiggled it a few times.

“We have to replace your locks,” Bucky said as he stood to his feet. He closed the door behind him, inspecting the clear ring of rust where a deadbolt once was before the landlord removed it. The last tenant was apparently too reclusive for the landlord’s taste. Bucky ran his hand down the door. “I’ll get you a new deadbolt and a chain lock tomorrow.”

You swallowed nervously, never having thought much about your lack of appropriate locks but now that Bucky was able to pick it so easily, it was a little harder to convince yourself your home was still safe.

“You don’t think they’d come looking for me here, right?”

Bucky’s head snapped up, a heartbroken kind of look on his face as he crossed the apartment to you. He only stopped when he was standing in front of you. He placed his hands on your shoulders, urging you to meet his eye.

“They don’t know anything about you, Y/n,” he promised. “I’m just taking precautions here. No one’s coming to look for you anywhere.”

You nodded, though unconvinced. Suddenly, you pulled away from him, darting over to the kitchen as an idea clicked in your head. His eyes were on you as you started rummaging through the drawer of miscellanies junk; ketchup packets, nails, rubber bands, a flyer for the takeout place down the street. A shimmer of rusted gold and you found what you were looking for. You pulled out a small metal ring with two gold keys attached.

You walked back over to him, and held them out for him to take. He narrowed his eyes, seemingly hesitant, as he let you drop the keys into his hand.

“I just thought, that if anything were to happen here, if I were to, uhm, need you and couldn’t get to the front door, that you’d be able to get in easy,” you started rambling, feelings incredibly silly the longer you talked and a flush of red burned in your cheeks. You swayed in your stance. “But maybe I’m just being paranoid again and – _God_ – I’m being paranoid, aren’t I? This is so inappropriate. I’m sorry, it’s not your responsibility to-”

You reached to take the spare keys back but Bucky’s hand closed around them before you had a chance to snag them.

“It’s a good idea.” He tucked the keys into his back pocket. He gave you that soft reassuring smile that made your stomach weak.

“So, you said Peter would be by tomorrow?” you asked, unable to sit in the tension that followed when he looked at you like that. It was too sweet, too genuine. It was the same way he looked at you in your office that night. This time, he smiled, nodding as he pushed his hair back.

“Yeah, Parker will come by around six, so you can open at seven like usual. I’ll be there around nine and stay to walk you home when you close.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m going to anyway. Please, don’t leave the apartment or go anywhere alone, even for groceries. I’ll make sure someone takes care of it for you or I’ll escort you myself. It’s just too dangerous, doll, and if Hydra somehow finds out who you are and one of our guys aren’t with you, I’ll-”

“Okay,” you conceded without much restraint, putting your hands on the sides of Bucky’s face to draw his attention. He clamped his jaw shut and you could feel the muscles contracting under your fingers. You pulled away instantly, wiping your palms on your jeans nervously.

“You going to be alright until tomorrow?” he asked slowly, gaging for your reaction as he glanced towards the door.

“I’ll be okay,” you said, pulling the card from your back pocket and waving it for him. He smiled at that.

“You carry it with you?” he asked, the surprise in his voice enough to reignite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Just in case,” you replied off-handedly, teasing him a bit to lighten the air. He grinned, biting his lip in a way that made your heart beat a tad harder.

“I should get going, then,” he said, just as a yawn escaped him and his stretched his hands above his head. _God,_ he looked years younger when he did that.

You nodded, “yeah that’s probably a good idea.”

He started walking towards the door. “Call if you need anything, you hear me?”

“You got it.”

“I mean anything,” he pressed, stopping in the doorframe. “I’m serious, Y/n.”

You laughed, shoving him in the chest until he stood in the hallway. “You’ll regret saying that when I’m calling you at four in the morning because the wind knocked over a glass in the kitchen and scared the shit out of me.”

He chuckled, leaning his head against the frame as you slowly started to close it on him. Blue eyes blinking up at you under long lashes.

“I said anything, didn’t I?”

With that, he pushed himself from the door, calling over his shoulder at you to lock it behind him as he strolled his way down the hall. You watched as he bobbed down the steps, too chipper for it being the hour it was. You waited until his tall frame disappeared to the street and he was gone from view before you closed the door.

You realized then, you were still smiling.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy your fluff while you can 😉

Every day for the next two weeks, true to Bucky’s word, the buzzer in your apartment went off at exactly six o’clock. By the time you’d throw your jacket over your shoulders and shove your keys into your pocket, you’d see Peter waving at you through the bars of the window in the front door. He’d escort you down to the bar, telling you all about the latest prank Sam was working on and how pissed off Bucky was when he found his office supplies covered in saran wrap. Bucky apparently retaliated by tossing Sam’s keyboard in the dumpster behind the station.

You had come to enjoy your walks with Peter and the few hours he’d sit at your bar before Bucky showed up. His energy was infectious and it helped to distract you from the constant state of anxiety you tried so hard to mask. He’d ask about a million times if there was anything he could do to help – sweep the floors, refill the pretzel bowls, wipe down the tables. After a few days, you finally gave in and assigned him a few tasks. The kid couldn’t sit still and he refused a drink when you offered it to him, claiming he was on duty, even though Bucky specifically said that Parker was volunteering on his own time. Didn’t stop him from carrying around that walkie-talkie on his hip, though.

The bell at the door would ring out around nine and Peter would jut out the door with a quick wave goodbye as Bucky strolled in and took his seat. He’d send you that smile that made your stomach weak and he’d ask you for that bourbon he claimed to like.

You never spoke of the almost kiss, but something had changed between you. His touch would linger on your hand a little longer than usual when you’d hand him his drink. His eyes followed you down the bar when you were tending to another patron. His lips curving up in a smile as you told him all about the ridiculous request one of your longest regulars had made for a VIP section complete with a velvet red rope.

He’d stay through close. Every night. Not a single complaint other than the smell of must that wafted over in his direction every time Smalls came up for a new round. He’d sit patiently and wait for every customer to leave before he’d help you clean down the bar and lock up.

The walks home were nice; quiet mostly, save for his soft humming. He’d follow you up into your apartment, insisting he take a quick look inside first as you wait in the hallway. He never found anything, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Of course, there were times Bucky couldn’t be there. He’d make sure you knew beforehand, so you didn’t worry when someone else walked through the door at nine o’clock. The first time he got held up at work, he had sent Sam.

Sam was someone you were comfortable with and Bucky understood that. You didn’t mind spending a few hours with him that night. He had you laughing constantly, tears welling in your eyes as he told you stories about him and Bucky when they were rookies in the academy. He’d easily throw back the jests at your patrons that they sent his way as they tested him out. Always quick witted, he earned their respect rather quickly. Sam’s drink of choice was a jack and coke, two limes.

A few nights later, you found Captain Rogers sitting at the end of the bar. It took him a while to sit down, eyeing the rowdy patrons as they shouted amongst one another and sloshing beer onto the floor in the commotion. When you finally got him to take a seat, he rolled up his sleeves, asked for a Budweiser on tap, and insisted you call him, ‘Steve.’

He was a little more reckless than you expected for a police captain. He had a shy kind of smile and a surprising compulsion for street fighting in his youth, only backed up by Bucky given he was about a third of the size at the time. For a captain, it was clear he didn’t care much for the tedious rules of law enforcement, breaking them when he saw necessary. Like now, as he sat at the bar of the unnamed witness to a Hydra hit, completely off of the books. The only rule he seemed to enforce was for overtime and that was just to get his team to sleep for once.

A week and a half into the new arrangement, you met Natasha Romanoff. You recognized her as the woman from the station that Sam stole his coffee creamer from. Vibrant red hair sweeping against her shoulders, a long, pointed nose, and the sharpest stare you’d ever seen; Bucky was right when he said she was tougher than most of the men in the precinct. Even the patrons of your bar hushed as she walked in, slouching down in their chairs when she eyed in their direction. She went for a vodka on the rocks, top shelf, and drank it empty before the ice had melted. She was gentler than she appeared and with a wit that could outsmart even Sam, you took a liking to her easily, just as Bucky said you would.

Bucky always made his best effort to be the one in the bar and the one walking you home at night, but you understood when work kept him later than he planned. He had an important job, one that involved saving lives and protecting more people than yourself. Besides, he had good friends at the one-four and you enjoyed their company.

Even when Detective Stark came in the prior night with a look of disgust on his face as he wiped down the barstool before he sat, you hadn’t minded. He was funnier than you expected and apologized for how he had treated you the first night in the station. He told you about how his parents had been killed in Hydra crossfire and how personally he took these sorts of cases. You understood and poured him a single malt scotch you kept in the back office. You had a drink with him as well.

***

Nearly month had gone by without a leak of your identity. The constant presence of one of fine, upstanding members of the fourteenth precinct of New York was welcomed given the circumstances, but you were starting to feel trapped. Even now, as you strolled down the cereal aisle of the mini grocery store down the street with Bucky trailing at your heels, you couldn’t help but feel a little suffocated.

“Hey Buck? You’re standing really close to me.”

Bucky blinked a few times, not realizing that he was practically breathing down your neck as he held the basket filled with produce. He stepped back and mumbled an apology. As you struggled to reach for the box on the top shelf, Bucky easily grabbed it down for you and set it in the basket draped over his forearm.

You sighed. “You know I appreciate all you’re doing for me, Buck, and it’s been nice getting to know your friends from the station, but… is this all necessary? I get you guys standing guard at the bar and walking me home late at night, but I feel like I should be able to walk down to the corner store by myself.”

Bucky was looking over his shoulder as you talked, eyeing up a man as he was taking too long deciding between the Honey Nut Cheerios and Froot Loops. You hit his shoulder. He spun back towards you, his expression softening as you waited impatiently for an answer.

“I’m sorry, doll. I know this is a lot.” He followed as you made your way down to the next aisle. “I just can’t take any chances. You of all people know how dangerous Hydra is. It’s not safe for you on your own.”

You nod and an aching feeling burned in your chest. You tossed a box of pasta shells into the basket.

A can of green beans and a jar of tomato sauce later, you checked out at the front and made your way back to your apartment. Bucky followed behind you, as he always did, carrying your bags and pulling them out of your reach when you tried to grab one. You led him up the stairs and spent an extra minute undoing the new locks he had placed on your door a few weeks back. He went straight to the kitchen and started to unload the groceries, having done it so many times at this point he knew where everything went.

“Thank you,” you said as you kicked your shoes off, gathering the plastic bags and stuffing them inside one another. He smiled shyly, nodding. He glanced back over at the door, then to his shoes. You chewed on your lip as a silence took over.

You knew he didn’t have to do all he did for you. No one in their right mind would spend all their free time protecting some random witness to a case, even if it would help bring down the biggest crime organization in the city, but he did it anyway. Not only that, he convinced he friends to volunteer on their off-duty nights to keep you safe as well.

Memory flashed back to the night the newspaper learned there was a witness. The fear that had come over his eyes. The wash of relief when he knew you were safe. The almost kiss.

He had become shier around you in the days since, though he never lost an ounce of his charm. It was like he was walking on eggshells, always afraid to overstep but longing to take the chance. You’d never spent time together outside of the necessities; your shift at the bar, walking home in the early hours of the morning, escorting you on errands. You missed him when he was gone, and though you hate to admit it, a sliver of disappointment stung in your chest on the nights he’d have to send a different member of the one-four in his place.

Maybe, he didn’t have to go just yet.

You swallowed, watching as he started to fiddle with the empty plastic bag on the counter top.

“Do you want to stay?”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up to yours, narrowed, surprised.

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to mask the nervousness in your stomach. “I’ve been meaning to watch this true crime doc on HBO and I’ve got too much popcorn in the pantry. So, I mean, only if you want-”

“I’d love to, doll,” Bucky grinned, blue eyes lighting up the entire goddamn room. He was already making his way to the food pantry to grab the bag of popcorn.

You laughed under your breath and plopped down on the couch in the living room, reaching for the remote. Before you even had a chance to glance back towards the kitchen to check on him, Bucky was settling in beside you, handing you the massive bowl of popcorn to hold in your lap as he adjusted his position. It was a small couch, one you had gotten from a thrift shop a few years back, with cushions that were weighted unevenly with feathers and filling, causing Bucky to lean towards you as he sat. Hip to hip, Bucky laughed nervously as he tried to push himself away from you to give you space. As soon as he’d take his positioning a few inches away, the cushions would have him leaning again in your direction.

“Don’t worry about it, Bucky, I don’t bite,” you teased, amused by his chivalrous efforts.

“Long as you don’t mind me crushing you,” he smirked as he let himself settle comfortably at your side. The length of his thigh pressed against yours, his arm bumping yours. He pulled his left arm back and let it hang behind your shoulders, draping over the back of the couch. You smiled nervously at him and he pressed his lips into a thin line, reaching for a handful of popcorn with his free hand. You’d end up leaning against his side, curled against him, just a few moments later, though neither of you said anything about it.

By the time the film was over, Bucky had asked about a million questions. You should have figured not to watch a true crime show with a cop present, as he was constantly berating the on-screen detectives for missing obvious clues and mocking the defense attorneys. He didn’t even pause to finish chewing the popcorn in his mouth as he waved his hands at the TV, talking as if the interviewees could hear him. It had been a while since you laughed so much.

The credits rolled on the screen and Bucky let out an exuberant sigh.

“I could have solved that case in half the time, you know,” he said, cocky grin upon his face you hadn’t seen in a while. You had almost forgotten how charming it was.

You laughed, standing from the couch to carry the empty popcorn bowl to the kitchen. “Oh, I’m sure you could have. Too bad you’re stuck on this case instead. You could be solving higher profile crimes than this.”

You had meant it in a teasing manner, but Bucky’s smile fell. He jumped up from the couch and grabbed the popcorn bowl from you, turning on the faucet in the sink to begin washing the butter away.

“I’m not stuck on this case, Y/n,” he said slowly, sincerely, eyeing you briefly before he turned back to the sink. “I wanted this case from the second I saw it was you in that alley. I had to fight Steve on it. He kept saying I had a conflict of interest since I’d been coming to see you for weeks prior, but I couldn’t let this case go to anyone else. It had to be me.”

“Here I thought you were only coming to my bar for the shitty bourbon,” you nudged his arm, smiling softly at him when you saw the tension building in his shoulders. He sighed, a smile lifting his lips and you felt a sense of relief.

“You know it’s more than that, don’t you?” He turned to face you, shutting off the running water. You swallowed, nodding slowly, heat rushing to your cheeks under his stare. The way he watched you, so softly, kindly, longingly – you’d never had anyone look at you like that. It made your stomach twist to knots.

His hand gently nudged at yours before you opened your palm to him, allowing your fingers to intertwine. You were certain he could feel the race of your heartbeat through your wrist, but as his free hand reached up to brush ever so slightly over your cheekbone, resting down at the crook of your neck, cupping your cheek, you couldn’t bring yourself to worry what he might think of it.

He licked his lips, eyes darting down to yours so quickly you almost missed it. A deep breath as he slowly guided you closer, your hand reaching up to grip at the fabric of his t-shirt over his chest. He paused just inches away, looking to you to make the next move; always so patient, so careful of your intentions. His breath tickled at your skin.

“Bucky,” you exhaled, your entire body urging you closer to him, “I –”

His phone started to ring, startling you both as you jumped back, your hands untangling from one another and his fingers slipping out from your hair. You clenched your jaw shut, nervously tucking a fallen hair behind your ear as you looked anywhere but at Bucky. He sighed and dug his phone from his back pocket, stealing a glance at the caller ID and cursing under his breath.

“Sorry, doll, I have to go,” he said reluctantly, sending you an apologetic, tight-lipped grimace.

You nodded, forcing out a smile, somewhat thankful to not have had a chance to finish your sentence. “I’ll see you tonight then?”

Bucky bit his lip, guilt sweeping his features. “Actually, Steve’s gonna come by. Parker’s got a personal day and I’ve got a perp in lock up I’ve got to see if I can get more information out of. Used to be a Hydra hitman. Thought maybe he could give us a lead on the guy in the alley.”

“R-right, of course.” You swallowed, folding your arms over your chest.

It was easy to forget that he was still actively pursuing the case even three months after the fact. With no new leads, this case should have gone cold. It didn’t sit well in your stomach knowing he was throwing himself into this mess, visiting hitmen in prison and interrogating criminals. It was his job, you knew that. He was more than qualified and he was damn good at it, but it still made you feel a little sick. You worried about him more than you cared to admit. The pendent of your necklace felt heavy on your chest.

Bucky gave you a soft, reassuring smile. He ran his hands along your arms as he usually did when he caught onto your anxiety rising. “I’ll be fine, doll. And Steve’ll take good care of you. Just ask him about the time he tried to take on a guy twice his size with the lid of a garbage can and I had to come bail him out. That’ll get him talking for hours.”

You laughed despite yourself and cursed at the cool feeling in your arms when he pulled his hands away. He started walking towards the door and you followed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night after my shift, alright?” he asked as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “I’ll let Parker know if something comes up so you won’t be too disappointed when Wilson walks through the door.”

That pulled another smile out of you and he grinned in response. He had a way of doing that.

“Lock the door behind me?”

“Always do,” you said, leaning against the frame to watch him as he walked down the hall and disappeared out the front door.

***

Steve must be some friend to Bucky because he not only picked you up at six, but he stayed the entire night at the bar to walk you home at two in the morning after you closed. All the while, doing it in his own free time at the request of a subordinate. Though, you knew Bucky meant more to him than that. He told you as much in stories of their childhood. Bucky was apparently always the protective one; something that didn’t surprise you.

As you walked next to Steve down the block towards your apartment, you started chewing nervously on your lip, stealing glances up in his direction every so often. He raised an eyebrow at you, catching on.

“How long do you think this is going to go on for?” you asked, trying to hide the trace of frustration and anxiety mixed in your voice.

Steve shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It was odd to see him in such casual dress. “All I can say is that we’re putting everything we have into finding the man who killed your friend and bringing down Hydra. Bucky certainly doesn’t get an ounce of sleep with the amount of energy he puts into it.”

You nodded, a pang of guilt in your chest.

“But don’t worry about him,” Steve continued, seemingly noticing the change in your expression. He nudged your shoulder lightly. “He’s knows what he’s doing. He’s a good cop and an even better guy. Nothing’s gonna happen to you as long as he can help it.”

His lack of an answer didn’t slip your notice.

Suddenly, a sharp clanging erupted from the alley next to you and you let out a yelp, throwing yourself in Steve’s direction. He shoved you behind his back as he faced the alley, a hand resting on his gun affixed to his hip, as the other wrapped stretched back at his side to keep you steady. The alley was too dark to see down more than a few feet, but you peered out from behind his arm.

“Who’s there?” Steve called. “NYPD! Show yourself!”

Then, a small, thin black cat jumped down from the lid of a garbage can, the same startling noise ringing out, as he took one irritable look up at Steve before scurrying down the street to the next garbage bin he could find. The two of you watched as the cat disappeared, blending amongst the darkness.

You let out a shaky exhale as Steve let his hand fall back to his side. He chuckled under his breath, though it died rather quickly when he saw you wrap your arms tightly around your waist, clenching your jaw as you stared down the alley.

“You alright, Y/n?” he asked slowly.

You nodded, though your heart was in your stomach. Trembling hands tucked the fallen hairs behind your ears as you started to pick up the pace. You hated how easily affected you still were by sudden noises. It brought you right back to that night in the alley, watching as that man murdered Charlie without so much as a thought. You had been getting better since Bucky set up this round the clock watch dog system. But every once in a while, when something did startle you like that, the thought crossed your mind that it could have been the last.

If Steve noticed the change in your demeanor, and you wouldn’t put it past him if he did, he didn’t say anything. 

By the time Steve got you to your front door, you were aching for your bed. It had been a long day to begin with and with your heart unable to settle down, all you wanted was to curl up under your blankets and hide away.

“You sure you’re okay?” Steve asked again, his eyes settling on your hands as you curled them into fists to stop the nervous twitching. He pursed his lips into a frown.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you promised, though you knew it didn’t sound convincing in the least. “Go home, Steve. I’m sure Peggy’s missing you.”

Steve chuckled at that, the slightest hue of pink in his cheeks. It always surprised you that a man so strong, so intimidating on the surface, blushed easily. He gave you a subtle wave and turned towards the door to leave. As the latch of the front door clicked into place and his silhouette disappeared into the night, you started to turn the locks of the knob and the deadbolt Bucky installed. Then, you slid the chain across the frame and allowed your feet to carry you directly to your bed. You didn’t pause to change your clothes.

***

“Is, uh, everything alright today, Miss Y/L/n?” Peter asked nervously as he half-jogged, weaving in and out of pedestrians in an effort to keep up with you.

Another two weeks had gone by and you barely had a moment to yourself. Not with Peter escorting you to the bar, Bucky or one of the detectives from the precinct sitting at the counter top every night, walking you home, taking you grocery shopping, accompanying you to haircuts and doctor’s appointments. Even your morning runs were supervised by Steve and he only seemed to run at an ungodly hour. You could tell he was scaling back his usual pace for you and that frustrated you more than the lack of light before sunrise.

By the time Peter picked you up nearly one month into the new arrangement, you were desperate for a drink.

“All good, Parker,” you huffed through a tight smile, skirting around a man in a suit with his eyes glued to his phone. “Just really looking forward to work.”

“Oh, alright,” Peter replied, though he still seemed skeptical.

When you finally got the key in the lock and opened the door to your bar, a wave of relief washed over you. It smelled like stale pretzels and old beer. It smelled like home.

You tossed your keys on the counter and went straight for the scotch you kept hidden in the office. It was a bottle your father had bought for you when you turned twenty-one and you only brought it out when you really needed it. The only other times you’d drank from it was the night he went to prison, the morning after you witnessed Charlie’s murder, and the glass you shared with Stark after he told you about his parents. It wasn’t exactly a celebratory choice of drink.

Peter watched you as you took a glass from the shelf and gave yourself a heavy pour. You could tell he was weary, unsure if he should say something, but the moment the liquid hit your lips and burned so sweetly on the way down, warming your chest, you couldn’t find it in you to care. You sighed, a content smile filling your face.

“The broom still over in the closet?” Peter asked, already making his way there. You nodded, taking another sip. You’d let him handle the pre-opening cleaning today. He was eager to help, anyway, and damnit, you needed a break.

You had refilled your glass again by the time your first customers came through the door. Peter was now sitting at the end of the bar, a nervous look about his face as he watched you greet Bernie and Big Al enthusiastically.

“Gentlemen! Welcome!”

They both paused in the doorway, eyes narrowing on you like you had a few too many heads.

“You alright there, Y/n?” Bernie asked, seemingly put off by your newfound cheery attitude. “You’re awfully… chipper.”

“I am excellent,” you exclaimed sincerely, buzzing from the lightheaded feeling. “What can I get you boys?”

“The usual,” Al muttered, even stealing a glance over at Peter who shrugged in response.

You filled two glasses with your cheapest beer on tap, nearly over filling them as they splashed some liquid over the edges. Bernie and Al took them from you suspiciously before heading back to their table at the far-right corner by the TV.

It was a better night than most, though maybe you should attribute that to the glass of scotch you kept refilling and the warm kind of dizziness in your head. Peter was watching you with a nervous look the whole time, constantly asking if you wanted a glass of water or if he could take the bottle of scotch back to your office for you. You’d wave him off, tap him on the nose as he’d flinch away, and take another sip of heaven.

It was coming on nine and Peter was constantly checking his phone, glancing over at the door. You were in the middle of serving Brenda another mojito when Peter waved you down.

“Have you heard from Detective Barnes today?”

You shook your head, “nope.” You popped the ‘p’ on your lips.

Peter slumped his shoulders, tapping his foot.

Another half hour and Peter started messing with his phone. He called a few numbers and grumbled under his breath when he wasn’t getting through to anyone. You strolled over to him and grabbed the phone from his hand, setting it on the bar.

“You worry too much,” you chuckled. “Have a drink, kid.”

“Something’s up,” he muttered, reaching over behind the bar and grabbed your glass of scotch, tossing it down the sink.

“Hey! That’s shit’s expensive!” 

“Barnes isn’t answering his phone and it’s almost ten. That doesn’t strike you as strange?” Peter questioned, snatching the bottle of scotch and twisting the cap back on. “It’s not like him and I can’t get ahold of Captain Rogers either. You need to stop drinking.”

“I’m sure Bucky’s fine. Besides, drinking helps me relax,” you groaned, reaching out to grab the bottle back from him but your reflexes were too slow. “Let me be in a good mood for once, Parker.”

“It’s illegal to be drinking while you work, you know that don’t you?” Peter raised an eyebrow and you pouted, rolling your eyes. “I know this has been hard on you, not being able to be on your own ‘cause we all know you’re capable of taking care of yourself. But you gotta let us help you. Please, no more drinking tonight. Not at least until Detective Barnes is here. He can probably handle this weird super happy version of you better than I can.”

That got you laughing, wondering why it took two glasses of a very expensive scotch before anyone ever classified you as ‘super happy.’ Just to appease the kid you had grown fond of, you conceded.

“Fine!” You threw your arms in the air rather dramatically.

“Drink some water,” he added, pointing to the clear spicket at the end of the tab.

“Okay Dad,” you groaned, laughing when his cheeks started to turn red.

When ten-thirty came around and still no word from Bucky, Peter was starting to pace back and forth down the bar, drawing the irritable attention of some your patrons. You watched him as he started talking under his breath to himself and you handed Brenda another round.

“I’m sure he’s fine, kid. He’s probably just busy at the station,” you called to him over the music. He paused to look over at you for only a moment before he resumed again. You sighed, wincing at the headache already pulsing behind your eyes. Your good feeling didn’t last nearly as long as it should have.

Peter came to a stop. He nodded his head a few times as if he had finally convinced himself to calm down, and he was just about to come back to the bar when a muffled buzzing came from the walkie-talkie on his hip.

“ _We’ve got a 273D out on 31 Westchier Street_ ,” the radio voice called out.

Peter clenched his jaw before he pulled the walkie up to his face. “This is Parker, badge number 8679. I’m a few blocks away. Anyone else in the area? Over.”

No reply.

“Shit,” Peter cursed and he ran his hand over his face. He sent you a sort of a helpless look before he clicked down on the walkie and spoke into it again. “I’m on my way. ETA ten minutes.”

Before he could have a chance to apologize, you held a hand up. “Go.” He started to protest but you shook your head. “Peter, I know police code. It’s a domestic violence call. Please go. I’ll be fine. I’m sure Bucky’ll be here soon.”

Peter grimaced, eyes darting towards the door in hopes Bucky would walk in. No such luck.

“I’ve got this handy card, remember?” you pulled the business card from the back of your jeans. You gave him a smile, hoping to alleviate his reluctance. “He might not be answering your texts but he’ll pick up if I call. I’ll be fine, Pete. Just go.”

Peter nodded before he took off towards the door, shouldering his way outside without another word.

“Damn, I thought he’d never leave,” Bernie grumbled as he handed you his empty glass.

***

Four hours later and Bucky never showed up. You wished Peter would have let you keep drinking, or at least allowed you to nurse the rest of what had remained in your glass. Maybe then you wouldn’t have a ball of nerves settling in your stomach.

Being sober sucked.

You knew he was probably caught up in paperwork or called out on another case like Peter was, but it was the not knowing that bothered you. You wondered why he hadn’t sent Sam or Steve, even Nat or Tony, in his place. That much, at the very least, was unlike him.

Despite this, you did your best to breathe through it. The walk home certainly wouldn’t be enjoyable. If you were on edge with Steve the previous night, you knew walking alone would bring out all kinds of paranoia; shadows will look like men and every sound will feel like an assault. Living in New York, you were bound to run into both.

The bar had emptied out and you had just finished wiping down the counter tops. You walked back to the office and shrugged on your jacket, tucking the keys into your pocket. It was quieter than you remembered. It had been a long time since you were alone like this without the company of an armed friend. It didn’t feel the same as it did when you spent your mornings by yourself in your apartment. Perhaps it was the darkness of the night or the lack of three locks upon every door that made it feel so much worse.

Your hand slipped into your back pocket and you felt for the thin paper card. Bringing it up to the light with a sigh, you ran your thumb over the ink. Maybe you could call him just to ease your mind. He wouldn’t mind, right? Certainly, he’d understand if you were a little paranoid these days. He said to call for anything, didn’t he?

A nervous inhale as you reached for your phone. The first three numbers dialed on the screen when you heard the bell of the front door ring out. You narrowed your eyes, turning towards the door when you saw three men walk in.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” you called as you made your way back to the bar. You didn’t recognize any of the men. Two of them lingered back towards the door; big broad shoulders, covered in tattoos, and an angry look in their eyes as they surveyed the room. The man at the front; tall, dark hair, a strong jawline, and an almost objectively handsome face if it weren’t for the burn marks on his left side.

He was too busy looking around the bar to notice you standing in front of him, a foot or so below his eye line.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said, a little more inpatient. “We’re closed. So, if you don’t mind-”

“I’ll take a whiskey, neat,” the man said, his voice low and graveled and you were sure you’d heard it before. It left an unsettling feeling in your stomach.

You swallowed. “I’m sorry, sir, we’re-”

He gestured to the men at the door and they flipped back the edge of their jackets to reveal handguns nestled against their hips. He turned back to you, raising an eyebrow. He moved to take a seat at the bar, his back turned to you. A breath hitched in your throat when you saw the semblance of a tattoo peaking up from under the collar of his shirt.

Tentacles.

Hydra.

That voice.

_Oh God._

The gunman from the alley.

You bit down so hard on your cheek; the cooper taste of blood filled your mouth. You swallowed it back, wincing as you did. The man tapped his fingers on the bar impatiently as he waited to be served. Quickly, you scurried back behind the bar and reached for a glass, setting down in front of him. You tried to mask the shaking in your hands but the unsteady pour of the whiskey gave it away.

The man eyed you suspiciously as he watched you struggle to put the cap on the bottle.

“No need to be nervous, dear,” he purred, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip. He smiled as he went down. “I’m just here to ask you some questions. That’s all. Answer them honestly and we’ll be out of here with no trouble. Isn’t that right, boys?”

The two men at the door nodded.

“What is it you’d like to know?” Your voice was stronger than you felt. You found your right hand settling over the safe under the bar where you kept your rifle. It was useless. You knew that. You’d never be able to load it and fire before they could take you out. It was more of a scare tactic than anything else. You’d never used it before and hadn’t even brought it out with the intention to. You weren’t as strong willed as you let on. Not even the weight of the necklace hanging under your shirt could bring you any sort of comfort.

“Why don’t we start with names?” the man grinned. “Mine’s Brock Rumlow. What’s yours, sweetheart?”

You didn’t know what to say. Was it better to give him a false name? Or would it earn you some credit if he knew you were the daughter of your father, an ex-hydra operative before he was imprisoned? You had never asked Bucky, or anyone from the station what to do if this happened. It was never supposed to be a problem. You were never supposed to be alone.

“Y/n,” you said finally, too much time having passed by to think of anything else. He raised an eyebrow and you added, “Barnes.”

Charlie had been a known friend of your father’s and it didn’t earn him any favors. Best not to take any chances. As for the new last name you took on, it had just slipped out, the first thing to come to mind when your own last name didn’t pass through your lips. Rumlow nodded, seemingly pleased with your answer. He didn’t question it, at least.

“Tell me, Y/n,” he hummed, “are you familiar with a Charlie Homes?”

“Should I be?” you responded, willing your voice steady. You dug your nails into your palm enough to draw blood. The sharp sting was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Rumlow shrugged. He took another sip from his glass. “Rumor is he was killed in the alley next to this bar. Know anything about that?”

“I know the police did a shit job of covering it up.”

This got him laughing and you took a deep breath, hoping it would ease the tightening in your chest. He raised his glass, sending you a grin that made your stomach hurt.

“I like you, Y/n.”

“Look, I serve a lot of people here, Brock,” you continued, ignoring his comment. “I don’t know the names or faces of everyone who comes in here. Particularly the forgettable ones.”

Rumlow leaned forward, intrigued. “And what would make someone _un_ forgettable?”

You shrugged and you forced yourself to keep eye contact. His stare on you sent unpleasant shivers up your spine.

“Big tippers. Fighters,” you leaned against the bar, enough for his eyes to fall to your chest as you intended. Men like this were easily distracted. He’d dismiss you if you flirted with him a little. You pushed your dignity aside and curved your shoulders so the fabric gaped a bit, enough to expose the curve of your breast.

“The kind of man who’d walk into an obviously closed bar and order top shelf whiskey anyway,” you added sultrily. You ran your tongue over your upper lip.

A smirk rose upon his face and you swallowed back the bile in your throat. It took too long for his eyes to trail back up to yours, absent of a modesty that would have him look away sooner. The way he stared at you, hungrily, was enough to make you feel sick.

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” This voice rang like razor blades down your spine. You forced out a smile, pursing your lips for him as he reached out towards you and ran his fingers along the side of your face, a thumb brushing over your lip, down along your neck, over your shoulder, until he pulled away.

You were on fire, scorch marks along your skin where his fingers had dared to touch you. 

Rumlow threw back the rest of the whiskey in his glass and handed it back to you. Reaching into his back pocket, he set several twenties on the table. His eyes scanned your body again, a shake of his head as he licked at his lips.

“Let’s go boys,” he called over to his friends and he pushed himself from the stool. “If you learn anything new about my man Charlie, you let me know.”

“Of course,” you smiled, batting your eyes. He winked at you and you clenched your jaw to keep from screaming. You watched as he staggered over to the exit, the door closing behind him and his men as they left.

The very second you were alone again, a sob raked through you so painfully, you fell to your knees. The adrenaline too much, your hands shaking too violently. It was a miracle you were able to hold it together enough to put on a mask for that vile, heinous man.

Brock Rumlow.

_You knew his name._

Through the tears tracking down your faces and struggling to catch your breath between sobs, you yanked the paper card from your pocket and reached for your- _shit, your phone._ You scrambled up to your feet, your hipbone slamming into the corner of the bar as you sprinted to your office. You groaned, nearly knocked off balance, but you grunted through the pulsing pain and shoved your way through the door.

There your phone sat on the edge of the desk. You lunged for it as you started to feel your breath picking up in pace and you slammed the office door behind you, pressing in the lock. Sliding down to the floor, you typed in the numbers listed on the card wrong four times before you were able to get all ten in accurately. You cursed yourself for not just entering the damn number in your contacts before; you supposed it would have made it too real – the possibility of ever having to use the number in an emergency like this.

You pressed the green icon and brought the phone to your ear. Your heart was beating louder than the dial tone.

_Ring._

“Pick up. Pick up. Pick up,” you chanted under your breath, bringing your knees up to your chest.

_Ring._

“Bucky, please,” your voice was shaking.

_Ring._

“Pick up!” He was taking too long to answer. You were growing frantic. Hand clutching so hard at your necklace, it stung the inside of your palm.

_Ring._

_Ring._

“Please, Bucky, please, pick up,” your face was wet with tears. You could hardly breathe. Your heart aching every ring that went unanswered.

 _Ring._ “Oh God, please answer,”

_Ring._

Then, his voice. “Leave a message.”

_Beep._

You froze, trying to catch your breath. This can’t be happening.

“B-Bucky, please,” you begged into the speaker, wincing at every crack in your voice. “I need you to answer. P-Please, Buck. _Shit._ He was here. He was _just here!_ Please, I need you. C-Call me back. I’m – _fuck–_ I’m scared. Please. I don’t know what to do. No one’s– no one’s here. It’s just me. Bucky, please. You promised you’d answer. _You promised._ ”

Another beep and the message ended. The phone slipped from your hand and fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

He wasn’t coming.


	6. Six

Bucky dove behind the police car, shielding his body from the spray of bullets lodging in his direction. He curled against the tire, wrapping his hands over his head as he shot a glance at Sam who was groaning on the pavement next to him, having just thrown his whole body up and over the trunk of the car. Bucky knelt on his knees, trying to get a better look at his partner to assess for damage.

“You okay, Wilson?” Bucky shouted over the gunfire, ducking down when the whiz of a bullet flew by his ear. Sam groaned but he rolled onto his side, yanking his handgun from his holster.

“Where the hell is our backup?!” He shouted as he jumped up and fired three shots over the trunk of the car before dropping back to the ground, back pressed against the frame.

“It’s been three hours, man. They ain’t comin’,” Bucky grunted. He looked down at his wrist for the fifth time in as many minutes. It was coming on eleven, and he should have been to your bar two hours ago to relieve Parker. Bucky clenched his jaw.

“She’ll be fine, Barnes,” Sam repeated, having said it at least ten times so far, eyeing the way Bucky couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off his watch. “Parker won’t leave just because you don’t show up.”

Bucky nodded. He gave the kid a lot of crap, but he knew you’d be safe with him. Plus, he was pretty sure Parker had a bit of a crush on you anyway. He might enjoy the extra time. Though, he hoped you wouldn’t be upset with him for failing to tell you or Parker that he wouldn’t make it tonight. He and Sam were too far out of range for Peter’s walkie to pick it up and with the heavy rain of gunfire, a quick call or text wasn’t an option.

It was supposed to be a simple in and out.

One guy; an old hydra affiant who had supposedly been out of the game for years. Sam had got word from one of his informants that he might have some information on the gunman from the alley, could possibly even identify you as the witness. Bucky couldn’t take the chance he was bluffing, so he grabbed Sam and went to have a ‘conversation’ with the man that led to a shootout in the middle of the street.

Nothing was ever easy with Hydra.

Four men were currently firing from inside the house, using windows for leverage and ducking behind the walls. Bucky and Sam had yet to get a decent shot in, though Bucky’s shoulder got grazed pretty early on. Dispatch wasn’t coming through, so Hydra must have figured out a way to jam the reception. The only message he had time to call in was to Steve, telling him they’d arrived at the house. No one knew they’d been held up in a rain of bullets since.

It went on for hours. Long past midnight and Bucky had stopped checking his watch.

Sam was in the middle of another round of shots when his gun stopped firing. He was out. The pause it took him to realize was too long before a bullet dove itself through his arm.

“Shit!” he cursed, grabbed onto his bicep as he slumped down to the ground. Blood oozed through his fingers. Bucky reached out and hastily ripped a section of his shirt and wrapped it around his partner’s arm, pulling tightly as he tied it, causing Sam to wince.

“Don’t fucking move,” Bucky ordered. The gunfire had ceased in the meantime. Bucky slowly laid down on the pavement, ignoring the look Sam was throwing at him, and kicked up at the side view mirror with all of his strength. It popped loose and jutted into the air before falling back into Bucky’s lap. With a triumphant grin, he readjusted until he was seated with his back on the car again. 

“What the hell are you doing, Macgyver?”

“Watch and learn, asshole,” Bucky grinned, holding the mirror up above the car. Through the reflection, he spotted a shimmer of light in the top right window. “Gotcha.”

Bucky sprang to his feet and fired a single shot where the glare had been. A hand slumped over the window pane.

“Goddamn,” Sam laughed, shaking his head. Bucky bent down to take cover again as the firing resumed. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“You should learn to trust me, partner,” Bucky taunted and Sam rolled his eyes in such a way it was probably painful. Bucky held up the mirror again and proceeded to take out another two of the men. Only one remained.

“On your left!” Sam shouted, but he wasn’t fast enough before Bucky was kicked hard in his shoulder, causing his gun to slide out of his grasp and a few feet away. He slumped onto the pavement with a groan.

“Come on, pig!” The man jeered, holding his fists up as he nudging Bucky with the side of his foot. “Get up!”

“You sure you don’t want to fight my partner? He’s a lot easier of a hit than I am,” Bucky grumbled, throwing a teasing look in Sam’s direction as he stood. Sam narrowed his eyes in annoyance just as Bucky winked. He took the moment of surprise and sent a fist barreling into the man’s jawline.

His hand stung as he pulled it back. This guy was no joke. Standing at least a half foot taller than Bucky and with the kind of look in his eyes that said he wasn’t going down easy. He came at Bucky with a roar and Bucky ducked his jab. When the fist came at him again, Bucky wasn’t quick enough, and it collided hard against his cheek bone before the other barreled into his ribs. Blood pooled in his mouth as he bit down on his tongue.

“Shit, Barnes! Step it up!” Sam shouted from the sideline.

“Shut the fuck up, Wilson!”

Bucky spit a glob of blood onto the ground and ignore Sam’s gag of disgust. Bucky managed to get another swing in at the man’s cheekbone before he kicked Bucky hard in the stomach. He stumbled back a few paces, grabbing onto the edge of the car for support. Sam narrowed his eyes, urging him on and Bucky groaned.

The man charged again and this time, Bucky went for his knees. This guy clearly spent too much time on arm day and ignored his lower body, and it gave Bucky the perfect target. A solid kick to the man’s knees and he lets out a shout in pain and dropped down. Bucky ran up behind him, snaking an arm around the man’s neck and yanking hard, squeezing as the man clawed at his arms. He dodged the man’s swings up at his face and he continued to squeeze.

Then, the man slumped, dead weight in Bucky’s arms and he dropped him to the floor.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky exhaled, panting hard as he wiped the trail of blood from his cheek.

“You kill him?” Sam asked quizzically, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

Bucky shot him a glare. “He’s just unconscious. Need one of these assholes to talk, don’t we?”

Sam studied the man lying on the ground before he eventually shrugged. “I guess.”

Bucky reached down and dragged the man’s arms behind his back, cuffing him to be safe. With all of his strength, he dragged him over to the police car and shoved him in the back seat. It took almost as much exertion as knocking the man out. Once the man was locked in the back, Sam was in the front seat, messing with the radio to try to get it back online. 

“I’ll try and call Steve,” Bucky suggested, reaching for his phone in his back pocket. When he pulled it out, his screen was illuminated with dozens of notifications. “What the-“

_Hey Detective Barnes, it’s Peter. It’s 9:15 and you’re not here yet. Just checking in. Miss Y/l/n is in a weird mood…_

_Hey Detective B. Peter again. It’s 9:30 and I’m getting nervous. Y/n is drinking… should I be worried?_

_It’s 10:00 and I haven’t heard anything…_

_I’m freaking out a little here…_

Bucky scrolled through the dozens of text messages, small ones in between where Parker asked for an update, where he was at, telling him what number drink you were on. Bucky’s heart was racing faster than it was when the bullets were firing in his direction.

Then, he landed on the final text.

_Hey Dt. B. It’s 10:30. I just got dispatched on a 273D and I’m the only backup in the area. I have to go. No choice. I can’t get ahold of anyone else. I’m so sorry. Y/n said she’s alright until you get here. Please come soon._

Bucky didn’t even have a chance for the wave of panic to pass through him before he finally noticed the small, red notification in the bottom corner of the screen.

A voicemail.

From an unknown number.

_You._

Twenty-seven minutes ago.

“ _Shit!_ ”

Bucky ran to the passenger side of the car, sliding over the hood of the car and nearly losing his balance as he scrambled to open the door. He threw himself inside the car and slammed the door shut behind him. Sam was giving him a curious look from the driver’s seat as Bucky’s hands were starting to shake.

“Drive,” Bucky could barely get the word out.

“Dude, are you-“

“Y/n called. T-There’s a voicemail. Twenty-seven minutes,” Bucky rasped, the fear so evident in his voice that Sam immediately dropped the wires in the radio and pulled the door shut. The car roared to life as he shifted it into gear.

“Well, listen to it!” Sam demanded as he slammed on the gas and pulled the car out onto the street. Out on the main road, they were weaving in and out of traffic, the siren wailing in Bucky’s ear through the open window shattered in the crossfire.

Bucky nodded, more unnerved than he had been in his life as the momentum of Sam’s driving shoved his body against the door. His hand was shaking, but he was able to press down on your message. It set it to speaker.

The automated voice announced he had one new message at 2:14am.

Then,

 _“B-Bucky, please,”_ your voice echoed through the speaker and Bucky clamped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming. “ _I need you to answer. P-Please, Buck. Shit. He was here. He was just here!”_

“Who’s ‘he’?” Sam interrupted, but Bucky shook his head frantically. He didn’t know.

 _“Please, I need you,”_ your voice cried, and Bucky felt a pang so violent in his chest he was sure it would give out. _“C-Call me back. I’m – fuck– I’m scared. Please. I don’t know what to do. No one’s– no one’s here. It’s just me. Bucky, please. You promised you’d answer. You promised._ ”

The message ended and Bucky could barely keep it together. He clenched the phone in his hand, Sam watching him nervously from the corner of his eye as he drove, and Bucky let out a scream that tore through his vocal cords enough to burn them raw.

He was panting, lightheaded, by the time he clenched his jaw again. The siren and rips of wind through the broken windows the only sound breaking the otherwise tense silence.

“I’m sure she’s still at the bar,” Sam offered hesitantly. “She said ‘he _was_ here.’ As in no longer-“

“Just fucking drive!” Bucky bellowed, left hand gesturing aggressively towards the road as the right anxiously swept his hair from his eyes. Abruptly, he slammed his hands against the dashboard. “Fuck! _Fucking hell!_ This is all my fault. _Goddamnit!_ ”

Sam stole a glance in Bucky’s direction as he took a sharp right turn. “You don’t know what happened yet. She could be fi-”

“What if she’s not there?” Bucky sounded years younger. The fear laced in his words enough to startle his partner. It was unlike him. Sam hasn’t seen him shaken like this since – ever. He slumped down into the chair, hands clenching at the fabric of his pants, searching for grounding. “God, what if she’s-“

“Shut up,” Sam snapped, slamming on the horn when the car in front of them didn’t move fast enough. “Stop making assumptions. We’ll get to the bar and go from there, you hear me?”

Bucky nodded, though it didn’t ease the dryness in his mouth or the racing throbbing of his heart. As Sam drove, Bucky tried to call your number back but you didn’t answer. He’d catch the first word of your answering machine, hang up, and call again. It was no use.

The car skidded in front of your bar with a piercing screech and Bucky was out the door before Sam could even put the car in park. He barreled through the front door, shoving his shoulder against the frame, only to find it unlocked as it tore open easily.

“Y/n!” he shouted, the crack in his voice unnoticed as he desperately scanned the empty room. “Y/n! Please! Answer me!”

Gun in his hand, only less than a handful of bullets left in the chamber, Bucky raced behind the bar. He dunked underneath but you were nowhere to be seen.

Sam raced in behind him. “Where is she?” 

“I don’t–” Bucky was shaking his head, trembling hands running through his hair as he tried to catch his breath. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Sam said calmly, slowly lowering his hand as if easing on a break. “I’ll check the closet. Go to the back office.”

Bucky nodded, feeling slightly relieved at the direction. He jogged back to the office and jiggled the handle, only to find it locked. Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Doll?” he called. No response. “If you’re in there, move away from the door.”

Again, nothing.

He waited ten agonizingly long seconds as Sam regrouped behind him having found nothing in the closet and kicked the door with all of his strength. It swung open and slammed forcefully against the adjacent wall with a loud _BANG_. Bucky stumbled into the room, eyes scanning frantically when he felt Sam’s lay carefully upon his shoulder.

He looked up at Sam inquisitively before he followed his partner’s gaze to the glimpse of a shoe hidden behind the desk. Bucky inhaled a quivering breath as Sam nodded and stepped back towards the door to give his partner space. Slowly, Bucky walked towards you, view still obstructed by the desk. The floor creaked under his shoes and he winced at every sound.

He came up to the side of the desk and he took in a sharp intake of air. Careful not to startle you, he lowered himself to his knees. You sat with your back against the wall, clutching a thin, small, paper card in your hand as your phone sat on the ground next to you, dozens of missed calls illuminated on the screen. Your eyes were staring off far beyond Bucky’s shoulder, almost like you were in a daze.

“Y/n?”

You didn’t respond. Bucky swallowed, quaking as he reached out gather one of your hands in his own. He clasped it gently, both hands surrounding it as he rubbed small circles on the skin. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Tears welled in his eyes. You didn’t react in the slightest.

“Doll, look at me,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please.”

A flicker of realization and gradually, your eyes trailed over to his. Bucky clenched his jaw, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

“Bucky?”

Your voice never sounded so sweet as it did in that moment. He let out a heavy exhale and nodded feverishly, pressing another kiss to your hand.

“Yeah, doll, I’m here.”

You paused, furrowing your brow. You reached out towards him with your free hand, brushing impossibly soft traces along the side of his cheek, just under the busted skin and along the bruising forming along his jaw.

“Your face,” you exhaled, concern replacing the numbed expression you wore. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing. Nothing, sweetheart, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” Bucky quickly replied, reaching for your hand laying upon his neck and bringing it back to his lap. He took a deep breath. “Are you okay? What- what happened?”

Your gaze fell to the floor and you pulled your hand from his, wrapping your arms tighter around your knees. “You didn’t answer.”

Bucky’s heart dropped.

“You said you would answer if I called, and- and you didn’t pick up.” Tears brimmed in your eyes and you moved to tuck your face behind your knees. You shuddered as the sob crawled its way up your back and Bucky was certain he’d never feel worse than he did in that moment.

“Shit, I know, doll, I know,” Bucky whispered as you let out cry that cut right through him. Guilt filled and racked in his chest as he reached towards you and pulled you into his arms. You came willingly, hands clenching at his shirt, tears dampening the fabric the tighter he held you. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

Lips pressed to the crown of your head, Bucky murmured apologizes again and again until you cried what was left in you, until nothing else would come out and your throat had gone dry. He rocked you back and forth, brushing away the tears in his own eyes with the end of his sleeve.

What felt like hours later by the time you settled down again, Bucky was humming softly, fingers trailing through your hair and rubbing patterns in your back. You sighed and Bucky could feel the gentle movement of your body against his. He pulled back, only enough to see your face. Tracks of tears ran down your cheeks, glistening in the dim light. Tentatively, Bucky reached out and brushed the wetness from your face with the edge of his thumb. You sniffled, and tucked your head back into the crook of his neck. Your breath warm on his skin.

“His name is Brock Rumlow.”

Bucky closed his eyes as he exhaled. He knew Rumlow. Nothing more than a thug by his standard, but a high-level hitman for Hydra nonetheless. He had been charged with at least seven murders in the last year, none able to stick when evidence would turn up missing or he’d have an overly convenient alibi he didn’t have the night before lock up.

He wasn’t the guy making the decisions. He was the enforcer.

“He doesn’t know I’m the witness,” you continued before Bucky could say anything.

“You’re sure?”

“I don’t think he would have let me live if he did,” you said calmly, too calm for the words that left a shattering ache in Bucky’s chest. A shiver crept over your skin and Bucky held you tighter. He was sure he’d never let go again.

***

You wanted to hate Bucky. You wished you could despise him for leaving you to face Rumlow on your own, for failing to answer when you called after he _promised_ he would, for making it so incredibly hard to feel anything other than singular, overwhelming relief upon seeing his face.

He didn’t let his touch fall away from you for even a second since he found you curled up under the desk in your back office. Not when he helped you back to your feet, half carrying you out towards the bar. Not when you noticed Sam leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest as he waited patiently for you to emerge. Not even when you reached out to hug him and Bucky’s hand stayed in contact with your shoulder, exchanging an unreadable glance with his partner.

Sam had left to take the Hydra affiant they had been caught up in taking down back to the station before you even knew the difference. He was still bleeding through the thin bandage of Bucky’s ripped shirt wrapped around his arm. Sam noticed your stare and waved you off, telling you it was a _‘battle wound for the ladies’_ but you stillfound yourself searching for Bucky’s hand when a pang of guilt swarmed in your chest. His fingers intertwined with yours easily and you could feel his thumb gently running back and forth in hopes to sooth you.

He didn’t let go when you crawled into the back of the police car and were surprised to find Bucky sliding in beside you as Sam jogged around to the front.

On the drive to your apartment, Sam told you where they had been all night, why Bucky couldn’t have possibly been able to hear the phone ring over the rain of gunfire, and how desolate he had become when he realized what happened. Bucky had his jaw clenched as Sam spoke, staring out the window, and you found yourself squeezing his hand to draw his attention back to you, though it proved futile. His kept his stare on the blurring lights as they drove past.

Sam pulled up to the stoop of your apartment and shifted the car into park. He glanced back over his shoulder at Bucky. “You need any help?”

Bucky shook his head and Sam hulled himself out of the car to unlock the door for you. The cool air hit you harder than you anticipated as the door pulled open and you shivered, pausing a moment as you looked up at your front door. Bucky nudged you carefully with a whisper in your ear to _‘go on, doll. I’m right behind you.’_

Standing on the sidewalk, you felt incredibly exposed and found yourself leaning into Bucky when he pulled himself out of the car behind you. Bucky reached out, shaking Sam’s hand firmly, before Sam slid back into the car without another word.

“My keys,” you realized, feeling for your back pocket to find it empty, “they’re at the bar.”

“I have mine,” Bucky eased. “Sam’s going back to the bar to close it up for you and he’ll grab them.”

You nodded, watching as Bucky pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. There were five on it. He must have seen you eyeing it because he added, “yours, mine, and my locker down at the station.”

Trying to push aside the weak feeling in your stomach, you let him gently pull you towards the door, hands still intertwined. He fumbled with the first key as he shoved it into the lock on the front door. You slipped your hand from his to give him more leverage to work at the lock and missed the warmth of it immediately. He didn’t waste a second in grabbing your hand again once he shimmied the door open.

He switched to the second key and undid the locks to your apartment door, twisting smoother this time since Bucky had replaced the locks nearly a month prior. The door pushed open and he gestured for you to walk inside. His hand fell away as you worked to shrug off your jacket and kick off your shoes. Bucky twisted the deadbolt and slipped the chain over the frame of the door into place.

You walked further into the apartment; arms folded over your chest. You turned slowly.

“You won’t-” you took a deep breath, desperate to avoid his eyes. “You won’t leave, will you?”

“Of course not,” he replied quickly, like it was the easiest thing he’d ever said. He shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Even if you asked me to, I’d probably sit outside your apartment door all night. I can’t imagine leaving you after what happened.”

You nodded, finding yourself growing used to the way your heart never seemed to settle around him. As Bucky started to pull off his jacket, wincing somewhat as he did so, you started to retreat back to your room. You rummaged through your drawers until you found an old t-shirt and baggy sweatpants big enough to fit Bucky. They looked a little large, but it would beat sleeping in slacks and a half-ripped button down.

“Here,” you offered, holding out the clothes for Bucky. He eyed them, a flash of hurt lingering behind his stare as he took them from you.

“Old boyfriend’s?”

You shook your head, almost amused at the question. “A friend’s brother left them behind a few months ago when they came to visit the city. I don’t really… _do_ boyfriends.”

Bucky smiled at that, nodding in thanks as he gripped the clothes at his side. He glanced over at the living room. “I’ll go ahead and take the couch, if that works for you?”

“Sure,” you nodded, trying not to sound as disappointed as you felt. “I’m going to go change and I’ll grab you some sheets.”

You shuffled off to your room and closed the door behind you with an anxious exhale. Quickly, you changed into a cotton short-sleeve shirt bearing the name of the nowhere town you had visited with your father in the week before he was imprisoned and a pair of sleep shorts. You gathered several blankets from the closet, unsure if Bucky ran cold or warm at night, and made your way back out to the living room.

Bucky was sitting on the couch, his slacks hung over the chair in the kitchen as he discarded his shirt directly into the garbage. He was breathing heavier than usual as he tried to pull the t-shirt you had given him over his head, but slumped his arms back to his sides with a pained groan before he could pull it on.

That was when you noticed the deep red gash along his outer edge of his arm. You gasped, and Bucky winced at the sound, having not realized you were watching him.

“You were shot?” you stammered, eyes wide as you rushed towards him and sat next to him on the couch, body facing his as one leg tucked under you.

Bucky shook his head, trying to pry your hands away as you reached to touch him. “It’s just a graze, doll. I’m fine.”

You bit down hard on your lip as your eyes trailed down his exposed torso. Markings of purple and blue littered upon his skin in parallel to the bruising upon his face. Fingertips reached out and brushed against the colored skin, goosebumps trailing in the wake. He shivered.

“Jesus, Buck,” you exhaled. You pulled your hand away, tucking it in your lap. He had already managed to find your first aid kit as it sat on the coffee table next to you. You reached for the disinfectant and started to unscrew the cap.

“You don’t gotta do that, Y/n/n. I can get it myself,” Bucky sighed, though he made no movement to stop you. You brushed the gel onto the edge of a cotton swap and raised it to his arm. You rested your wrist on his forearm, eyes glancing at him for permission before you went further. Bucky nodded and you began to brush the gel along the wound.

You tried to ignore the groans he let out and the way his hand curled into a fist as you worked. You moved quickly, covering the wound, and pulled back.

“I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” you said, setting the swab on a tissue and began unpacking a bandage. You pulled away the papers from the adhesive and slowly pressed it against his arm. His hand came up suddenly and he held it against yours, pressing against the bandage.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his hand curling under yours and gripping your fingers. He let it drop away just as fast. “You shouldn’t have to be taking care of me. Not after what I did.”

You swallowed, watching as Bucky’s eyes fell to the ground. You reached up, letting your elbow set gently against his shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair. The tension in his muscles slowly started to relax and he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“If there was any excuse to not answer that goddamn phone of yours, it was this,” you said sincerely. “Besides, I’m okay.”

“Are you?” Bucky countered, turning to face you and you pulled your hand away. “You never actually told me what happened.”

“He just asked me whether I knew anything about Charlie. Ordered a drink. I had to, uhm,” you brushed your hair behind your ear, nervously, “flirt with him to draw suspicion from myself,” you said, shivering at the memory and subverting your gaze from his. Bucky’s eyes narrowed and you saw a subtle movement in his jaw line where he clenched the muscle. “I can still feel his grimy hands on my-”

“ _He touched you?_ ” Bucky gaped and you shook your head.

“Not like you’re thinking,” you clarified quickly, though it didn’t seem to ease him at all. “He just… The way he was looking at me, I knew if I could subvert his attention elsewhere, he’d leave. Men like that, they don’t put much stock in women they’d rather fuck. But… God, Buck, I swear it’s like I can still feel him.”

Bucky was gripping at his thigh so tight were sure his nails would dig through the sweatpants and break skin. He couldn’t look at you, his breathing picking up in pace as he shook his head back and forth, subtly, like he was talking to himself. You reached out to sooth him but he flinched away.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I should’ve been there,” Bucky said, standing to his feet and pulling away from your outstretched hands. He started pacing back and forth down the walkway between the kitchen and the living room, hands raking through his tussled hair.

You scurried up from the couch, standing off to the side as you watched him. “Bucky, it’s not your fault. You were being shot at for God’s sake.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he argued, his bare chest rising and falling at a near rapid pace. The colors of bruising upon his skin palpable in the dim lighting. “You should have never been alone. And _Parker-_ ”

“It’s not Peter’s fault either and you know that,” you snapped, though he didn’t let up.

“This could have been so much worse! Don’t you get that?” Bucky lashed out, throwing his arms out to the side and wincing at the effort. He planted his feet. “Rumlow could have found out who you are and he could have –,” he shook his head unable to finish the sentence. “I could have lost you and I can’t– _I won’t_ let that happen. How can you stand there and- and tell me it’s not my fault when I failed do the one goddamn thing I swore I would do? How can you even look at me? How can you possibly trust me again?”

You had crossed the hall before he had finished speaking and suddenly you were standing inches away. The heat of his heavy breaths warming your skin as you ran a gentle hand up along his stomach muscles, careful to avoid the bruising, tracing up along his chest until you let it settle against his neck, cupping the side of his face.

“Look at me and believe me when I say this,” you urged, your other hand reaching up to hold the other side of his face and drawing his attention to you. Blue eyes boring into yours. “You have not lost me. I am right here, Bucky, and I trust you with my life.”

“But-”

“No,” you retorted. “No exceptions. Tonight was a nightmare of bad timing and no one’s fault but the Hydra assholes that got us into this mess.”

Bucky swallowed and you could feel his muscles contracting under your palms. You readjusted your hands, sweeping your right over his forehead to push his hair from his eyes, before settling against on his jawline.

“You’ve done more for me than anyone else ever has. You’ve been so incredibly selfless and kind through all of this. Somehow, I can’t even remember what my life was like before you and I… I don’t want to,” you confessed and Bucky took in a sharp inhale, wide eyes flashing to yours. You sighed, running your thumb soothingly along his cheekbone, just under the swollen wound. “One missed call isn’t going to change that.”

A pause of silence as Bucky contemplated your words. He took a deep breath, sad eyes staring down at you, though he tried his best to force out a smile.

“You forgive too easy, doll.”

You shrugged, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Only when it’s you.”

Your gaze flickered down to his lips; parted slightly as he exhaled, his tongue tracing over the crack in the skin. He was watching you so tenderly, a semblance of awe and disbelief colored in the shades of blue. Impossibly slow, you leaned forward, your nose brushing his. A gasp escaped you as he snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He groaned slightly, loosening his grip on you for only a moment, adjusting to favor the bruising on his ribs.

He nipped at your lips, hesitant, burning with anticipation; so quick that he did it again before you could ache for more. He paused, lips touching yours ever so slightly, breathing against one another until you grew too inpatient and compelled yourself closer. Your lips meld into his, pulling and sucking sweetly against his mouth.

Bucky let out a moan that sent a shiver down your spine as he stumbled back against the wall, hitting it with a thud. Strong, rough hands ran under your thighs and he tugged, urging you to help give him leverage he needed. You jumped up, hooking your legs behind his waist and he spun you around, holding you up against the wall to offset your weight, his hands held firmly on the curve of your thighs.

He kissed you hungrily, like he has been waiting for years, unable to get enough as he sucked on your lower lip, drawing a whimper from you. Your hands raked through his hair and along his shoulders. There was too much of him you hadn’t touched, _needed_ to touch. You needed him closer, as close as two people could be. This wasn’t enough. You needed more.

His tongue ran over your lip and you parted your lips further, grinding down against him as his tongue brushed yours and he flinched at the sensation, squeezing at your thighs. When you were breathless, you moved from his lips to pepper kisses along the blue marks of his jawline, over the shadow of hairs of his beard, down his neck, to the sweet spot near his collar bone that made him shiver. As you nipped at him, he pulled you away from the wall and carried you down the hall to your bedroom.

He laid you down on the top of your comforter carefully, a soft smile on his swollen lips as he brushed the hair from your eyes. It was a soft, tender moment; finding yourself lost in the warm blue of his eyes.

Then, Bucky crawled over you and settled on the bed beside you as you grasped him by the side of his face and brought him back to your lips, unable to stand another second not touching him. Laying on your back, he leaned against you, your left side compressed by the length of his body as he wove his thigh between your legs. You pushed up against him and he let out a carnal groan. You could feel how hard he was against your thigh.

His hand trailed down over your t-shirt, hand roaming up under the fabric to your skin. Goosebumps littered in his wake as his hand caressed your side. You kissed him harder, sucking at his lips and biting down ever so slightly when you wanted him to move his hand along your skin more.

Slowly, his hand began to travel down to the waist band of your shorts and you were shaking with need. He paused just before he could slip his hand down where you needed him most and pulled back abruptly from your lips.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he panted, nervous blue eyes searching for resistance in your expression he wouldn’t find. “Tonight’s been… _a lot_ and, and maybe it’s just the adrenaline-”

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” you begged, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them. “I don’t want to feel _him_ anymore. Please, Buck.”

Bucky swallowed, nodding in a gentle kind of understanding, though his eyes fell away from you, not fully understanding what you were asking of him. You set your hand on his cheek, drawing his attention back, thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. The way he looked at you, so sweetly and full of an adoration you had only seen glimpses of behind his cover of flirty jokes and light-hearted teasing, was enough to make your heart overflow.

“I only want to feel _you,_ ” you urged, your voice just above a whisper as you dared to meet his eye, finding comfort in the shades of blue. “Just you.”

A flash of awe washed over him and his lips parted in disbelief. He exhaled, a subtle shake of his head as if trying to convince himself of what you had said. Bucky leaned down to kiss you, chaste and gentle, before he set his forehead against yours.

Then, as you hummed softly in contentment, his hand slipped under the fabric of your shorts and beneath your underwear until they traced at the outer lips of your core. You grind down against his hand, kissing at his jawline to compel him further. His fingers parted and dipped between the folds, running a long stripe up to your clit, causing you to shudder at the sensation.

Bucky kissed your forehead as he rubbed circles in the wetness, spreading it, before he sank his middle finger into you. You moaned, bucking your hips into his hand as he curled his finger at the knuckle, brushing over the spot that made your legs quake. He pushed in a second finger, pulling in and out, curving inside your walls.

“ _Shit,_ ” you cursed, eyes closing as Bucky started to kiss at your earlobe.

His thumb pressed on your clit and you let out a whimper, biting down on your lip. It was the only sensation you could register. Bucky. _Only Bucky_. His lips on your neck. His heart pounding loudly in your ear. His breath on your skin. His fingers inside you, bringing you to the edge.

The pressure at your core was building, threatening to release as Bucky pumped his fingers harsher, circling firmer at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Bucky,” you gasped, walls beginning to clench around him. One hand grasped at the sheets, bunching it your hand, desperate for relief, as the other wove around the nape of his neck to his hair, pulling at the short strands to hold him against you. 

“I know you’re close,” Bucky mewled, panting against your collarbone. He pressed a kiss to your jawline, breath hot on your skin. “Let go, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

The ache released in waves of pleasure as you cried out, tucking your face into the crook of Bucky’s neck to muffle the sound. His fingers worked you over, prolonging your peak as long as he could. Though now he moved at a slower pace, careful as to not overstimulate you. He kissed sweetly at your neck as you gathered your breath.

“ _God_ , you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, though it was so soft you almost didn’t hear it, like he had said it aloud by accident. There was a subtle ache in his voice, almost pained as he said it, but you were too dazed to catch it.

You looked up at him longingly, bringing his lips down to yours to kiss him affectionately and he smiled against your mouth. He pulled his hand away from your core and you missed it instantly.

Mind clearing from the rush of your high, you started to reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, desperate to pull him closer, to touch him, to make him feel as adored as he made you. Your fingers only brushed the skin above the grey elastic band before he recoiled and pulled away sharply.

You narrowed your eyes, confused as you watched Bucky swing his legs over the side of the bed and spring to his feet, adjusting the band of his sweats to sit higher on his waist. He swallowed thickly, eyes darting over towards the door and back to you lying on the bed, waiting for him.

“Bucky?” you asked slowly, apprehensively, “What are you-“

“You should get some rest,” he interjected hastily, dipping down to kiss your forehead before he started rushing towards the door.

“Wait!” You jumped to your feet, throwing yourself from the bed and darting after him. You planted yourself between him and the door, blocking his escape. Your heart began to sank when it occurred to you, he couldn’t meet your eye. You ran your hand up his arm soothingly, hoping to draw him back to bed. He clenched his jaw, turning away from you, almost as if he was fighting an internal war with himself.

“Let me return the favor, at least.”

“It’s not about favors, doll. You don’t owe me anything,” he said dejectedly, tucking his hands into his pockets and an ache burned in your stomach when you realized he wasn’t just talking about the sex. Following the movement of his hands, your eyes glanced down and saw the prominent outline of his arousal through the fabric of the grey sweatpants. He was hard, painfully so, but still, he wouldn’t let you touch him.

A sharp pang of realization. _He didn’t think he deserved it._ He was still punishing himself.

“Bucky,” you pled, fingertips brushing over his hardened length but he flinched away from you. “Please, let me-“

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he muttered, pushing past you as he slipped out the door, closing it sharply behind him.

You stared blankly at the white wooden door, heart aching as you listened to his footsteps pacing back and forth in the hallway restlessly. Reaching out carefully, you pressed your palm against the frame, as if it were a life line to him, as if it would bring him any source of comfort, and let out a heavy sigh. You backed away and let your hand fall away from the wood, heading towards your bed.

The soft echoes of Bucky’s footsteps lulled you to sleep.


	7. Seven

Nothing was the same again after that night. Bucky had insisted you move into his flat for the time being, concerned that staying at your apartment was too easy of an access point to you if, _and when,_ Rumlow put the pieces together. He had helped you gather a suitcase of clothes, toiletries, and several books from the shelf you had bought in the years past but never got around to reading. Free time wouldn’t be as sparse as it used to be now that you’d be closing the bar.

Bucky had expected a fight, had even prepared a few different angles of argument in advance, but you conceded easily. The very idea of stepping foot back in that bar made your stomach sick and _that_ you hated more than almost anything else. The bar was supposed to be your home, your safe haven. Those assholes took that from you.

Meanwhile, Bucky had taken the liberty to tack a sign to the door, telling your patrons you’d gone traveling for a while but you’d be back soon. You hoped it wasn’t entirely a lie.

You spent most of your time curled up on Bucky’s couch, reading or watching a new tv series you had been meaning to get to as Bucky sat at the table in the kitchen, hunched over his laptop through the late hours of the night typing furiously at the keys. Steve had given him leave for the last week while he helped you get settled until they could come up with a better plan. It didn’t stop Bucky from pursuing every lead he could from behind the computer.

It was laughable to think you had felt suffocated with how much Bucky was doting over you before your run-in with Rumlow. Now, the very idea of being outside of the same room as him made you weak with anxiety, even when he started to keep himself at a painful distance.

You stole a glance at him over the top of your book. Bucky was seated in his usual spot at the kitchen table, illuminated only by the light of his laptop screen as the hours passed by since the sun set and he had failed to turn on the overhead light. You sighed, setting your book down on your knees. You had been scanning the last page over three times and had yet to retain a word, anyway.

“Hey Buck,” you called, leaning your head against the back of the couch. His eyes flashed up at you briefly before he returned to the computer. “Think you might want to eat something? I could heat up the leftover takeout you ordered for me?”

Bucky paused, the endless clicking of the keys silencing for a moment. “I’m alright, doll. Thanks.”

“You haven’t eaten dinner yet and it’s almost eleven,” you pressed, pulled out your necklace from under your shirt and twisting the pendent nervously between your fingers. You slid your legs out from under the blanket and paced over to the kitchen. You clicked the light on and Bucky flinched. Once you were close enough, you set a hand on his shoulder, bending over to kiss the crown of his head. “I know you’re working, but I need you to eat. For me?”

He didn’t look up from his screen, but a quick glance down and you could tell he was still diving into the police database, Rumlow’s most recent mug shot in the top right corner of the screen. Bucky’s hand reached up to rest on top of yours. He gave it a light squeeze.

“Just for you, okay?” he conceded lightly, forcing out a tight smile.

Then, he let his hand fall away and you found that you missed the touch instantly. In the week since you moved into Bucky’s apartment, neither of you spoke about the glimpse of a night you shared, but it was clear something had changed. Bucky was quieter, more reserved, and he kept to himself unless it was you that initiated the contact. He was sure to keep a distance between you in the rare moments when he agreed to step away from the computer long enough to watch a movie. He still struggled to meet your eye on most occasions.

Somewhere along the line, you had grown to know and understand Bucky better than most, and you knew that his sudden withdrawal had little to do with the way he touched you that night.

It was because he was a man who carried the burden of a guilt so strong it was suffocating him, wrapping tight around his self-doubt and misplaced blame until it stole the air from his lungs. Nothing you said seemed to lessen the load. He’d just smile softly and nod, thank you again for your selfless forgiveness and change the subject.

He tried to mask how much he was torturing himself for not being there when Rumlow walked into your bar. He kept himself from you, withholding against every instinct that begged him otherwise, and put up walls and barriers between you. He didn’t realize it was hurting you and much as it hurt him.

You threw the leftover Indian food in a bowl and stuck in the microwave. Bucky would barely touch it. You knew as much, but at least he’d get a few bites in. He’d do it to appease you, anyway.

Once the microwave beeped, you pulled the warmed rice and chicken from under the steaming lid and carried it over to the table. You sat it down next to his laptop and he didn’t so much as look at it. He was too focused on his screen.

“It’s good, Buck. You’ll like it,” you said as you sat down next to him. You leaned your elbows on the table, watching as he typed away at the keyboard. You sighed, and slumped back in your chair. Bucky must have noticed your disappointment and he reached for the spoon, taking a quick bite.

“It’s perfect, Y/n,” he replied, forcing out a smile as he chewed. “Thank you.”

You nodded and stood back up, making your way back to the couch. You grabbed the book from the cushion. “I’m going to head to bed,” you called softly over your shoulder.

“Okay, doll,” Bucky said, pausing his typing to watch as you dragged the blanket alongside you towards his room. “Goodnight.”

“Don’t work too long, alright?” you asked of him, leaning against the door frame. “Try to get some sleep tonight, at least. That file can wait until morning.”

“I’ll do my best,” he assured you.

You fell asleep to the gentle clicks of his keyboard, carrying on through the early hours of the morning.

***

You woke the following morning to voices whispering in the kitchen. Rubbing at your eyes, you patted the side of the bed, searching for your phone. The screen illuminated and you squinted to avoid the influx of light to your eyes. It was nearing ten o’clock already. Light seeped in through the blinds in the window on the other side of the room and birds chipped just beyond the glass. 

“We’ve had a warrant out for his arrest for a week, Buck, what else do you want us to do?” A voice questioned suddenly, muffled by the bedroom door. Steve, it sounded like.

“More,” the voice you quickly recognized as Bucky groaned.

“Listen man,” the cadence of the tone easily gave it away as Sam, “I know being cooped up here is hard but-“

“Hard?” Bucky scoffed and you could practically picture the glare he was likely throwing in Sam’s direction. Kicking the blankets down the bed, you swung your legs over the side of the mattress and pulled yourself to your feet.

“You think I’m on you about tracking down Rumlow because this is _hard?_ ” Bucky continued and you pictured the way he would start chewing on the inside of his lip cheek when he became upset. “Every day we don’t have him in custody, Y/n’s life is in danger! Every second we fail to nail that asshole, he could be learning her identity! This is beyond _hard,_ Wilson! This is a whole other fucking level!”

An understanding sigh, “I know, Buck, but-“

“No, Wilson. You _don’t_ know!” Bucky shouted and a chair squeaked as he must have kicked it out from under him. You threw on a sweatshirt and quickly tied your unruly hair up into a bun.

Pacing of footsteps down the hall, back and forth, and you could only imagine Bucky raking his hands through his hair, the frustration boiling in his skin so hot he could hardly stand it. The pacing ceased but not before the sound of a fist slamming against the wall startled you enough to make you flinch.

“You don’t know shit, Sam. Either of you!” Bucky snapped and you could hear the panting in his voice. “You have no fucking idea what it’s like! To constantly be worried that something’s going to go wrong! To have to watch someone you love be targeted by the deadliest, most powerful criminal organization this city’s ever seen! You’ve never had to– to deal with that dread, that fucking _paralyzing fear,_ that you’re going to mess up _again_ and this time she won’t live long enough to just _blindly_ forgive you!”

You clasped your hand over your mouth, recoiling your fingers from the doorknob.

_Someone you love._

Another chair skidded on the tile floor. “I know how much you care for her Buck,” Steve said carefully. “Take a seat, alright? We’ve got everyone on this case. Nothing is slipping by without us knowing.”

A long pause, the scuffle of feet, and then, “Sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to–“

“Already forgotten, partner.”

Without giving yourself the time to hesitate, you opened the bedroom door and strolled down the hallway to the kitchen. The three men turned abruptly in your direction as you walked in and headed straight for the cereal boxes on top of the fridge, acting as though you hadn’t heard their argument. 

“Good morning, Y/n,” Steve smiled, pulling out the empty chair for you between him and Sam. You waved with your free hand and grabbed a clean bowl and spoon from beside the sink. You plopped into the chair and sent a wink at Sam as he nudged your arm. None of them seemed the wiser and no one was intent on filling you in. 

“Sleep alright, doll?” Bucky asked gently, though you could still make out the strain in his voice. You looked up at him as you poured the cereal, taking in the sunken look under his eyes and the flush of redness in his cheeks. He hadn’t been sleeping well in the last week. Your eyes glanced over to the couch where he insisted he stay despite your protests, blankets and pillows still tossed over the cushions like he had been fumbling against them in the few hours he gave himself time to rest. You gave him a slight nod, hoping to ease his constant worry.

“We should get going,” Steve said, pushing his chair out from the table. Sam scowled as Steve gestured for him to follow.

“Yeah, _I guess_ we’re leaving then,” Sam grumbled and he climbed out of his chair rather dramatically. He bent over and gave you a one-armed hug as you shoved a spoonful of cereal into your mouth.

“I brought you the tomato sauce and homemade linguine from the Italian grocery store Bucky said you’d been craving,” Steve smiled, nodding to the bags of groceries he must have brought in this morning.

You glanced over at Bucky with wide eyes, not having realized he had made the request to Steve for you. You didn’t even know he had heard you mention that. It was an off handed comment you had grumbled to yourself during a commercial for Olive Garden about how you could make a better looking bolognaise if only you’d had access to that small family run convenience store in Little Italy. Bucky had been sitting over in the kitchen on his laptop at the time. Maybe he paid more attention than he let on.

You smiled at him sweetly, almost sadly, like you had been missing him. He returned it, only a glimpse of the smile you were so fond of, before he let it fade away.

“Nat will be by around nine tonight, that work for you?” Steve said over his shoulder as he headed towards the door. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s fine. Thanks,” Bucky stuttered, eyes falling away from yours as you raised an eyebrow at him. With that, Steve and Sam left through the front door and closed the door behind them.

“What’s happening at nine?” you asked more casually than you felt, taking another bite of cereal.

Bucky sighed, clearly considering lying to you for a moment before his judgement got the best of him. “I have an old informant I want to meet up with. He might have some info on Rumlow’s whereabouts.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. “By yourself?”

“This guy won’t trust me if I’m not,” Bucky replied gently, noticing the flicker of nerves in your voice. “I’ll be fine, Y/n. It’s part of my job to make friends with these guys.”

“You can’t bring Sam with you?” you tried to reason but Bucky shook his head.

“Sam’ll scare him away with his loud mouth,” Bucky teased, enough to get you to laugh. It had been a while since he’d done that. You smiled as you took another bite. “Nat said she was going to bring over some kind of Russian chocolate and some kind of soviet spy movie. You’ll have fun and forget all about me.”

He had said it with a laugh, like he had meant it in a playful way, but you knew part of him really did believe that you could forget him easily. You swallowed, setting the spoon in your empty bowl.

“I’ll always worry about you, Buck,” you said softly, truthfully. “Promise me you’ll come home safe tonight?”

A flash of surprise etched over Bucky’s features, though he nodded. He gave you a nervous smile before he grabbed your bowl and began to wash it in the sink. You watched him curiously as he dried it and bustled off to find his laptop in the living room. You wondered what had made him so flustered until you realized what you had said.

You called his apartment ‘home.’

***

Truthfully, you had always enjoyed Natasha’s company. She had the kind hardened exterior that normally would have scared you off before you had given yourself the chance to know her, but under it all she was incredibly kind, empathetic, and a lot funnier than she let on. Her humor was subtle, enough so that you had to pay attention to catch her mumble a witty retort under her breath. She didn’t have a flare for the dramatic like Sam or enjoyed the spotlight like Tony. Nat was more comfortable in the shadows and you were grateful she had been willing to let you in. 

You had always been curious if she and Bucky had a past. For two people that rarely seemed to interact, they shared some kind of unspoken bond you couldn’t quite understand. She had agreed without question to join the protection detail when he asked, having not even met your before. Loyalty certainly was _not_ one of her weaknesses.

As she sat next to you, tossing a handful of popcorn in her mouth and missing a stray bit that fell into her hair, you gathered the courage to ask.

“So, you and Bucky-“

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Nat smirked, turning to tuck a leg under her to face you. “Oddly, you’re not the first person to ask me this but nothing’s going on between me and Barnes. Never has. We trained together at the academy when we were rookies and learned pretty early on to trust one another. He asks for a favor and I do it. No questions. He’s done it for me, too. But that’s as far as it goes.”

You bit on your lip, heat rushing up to your cheeks. “Oh, ok. I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Nat waved you off, laughing softly at your reaction. She grabbed the piece of popcorn still sitting at the edge of her hair and dropped it on her tongue. “I can see how much you care about him. It’s sweet. Besides, Bucky could use someone like you in his life. I’ve never seen him as happy as he was when he first starting going to your bar, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow, pulling your knees up to your chest, the movie long forgotten. “Really?”

Nat shrugged. “Well this was before you became a key witness in a Hydra hit, so he’s been a little tense since then, but yeah.” The way she smirked over at you got you laughing again.

Nat sighed, her smile faltering somewhat. “He’s got a control issue; wants to protect the people in his life he cares for above all else. It’s admirable. Honestly, it is. But it’ll eat at him if he lets it. That kind of devotion comes hand in hand with a guilt that can’t be swayed on its own.”

You nodded, taking in her words. She was always more perceptive than the team gave her credit for. You let your chin rest on your knees as you hugged them to your chest. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve already forgiven him a hundred times but he keeps pulling away. It’s like he doesn’t believe me.”

“It’ll take time,” Nat said carefully, like she spoke from experience. “He’ll come around. Something tells me you’ll be here when he does.”

***

You fell asleep on the couch three times before Nat convinced you to go to bed. You had wanted to wait up until Bucky returned, but as the hours passed by and with no text to Natasha that he was on his way, you reluctantly gave in. Nat sat on the edge of your bed, running her hands softly through your hair to ease the worried mummers under your breath. It only took a few minutes before you succumbed to sleep.

When you woke again, Natasha was gone. The room was absent of sunlight and crickets chirped softly from beyond the cracked opening in the window. You yawned, grabbing your phone to find it was nearly three in the morning. You laid back against the pillow, eyes staring up at the ceiling fan as the panels spun slowly in endless circles.

A parch in your throat urged you to leave the comfort of the bed. It smelled like Bucky, even eight days after he replaced the sheets and you had slept in it alone; a part of him still lingered behind and it seemed to be the only thing that brought you ease at night.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, rubbing at your eyes as you lazily grabbed the empty cup on the nightstand and made your way to the kitchen. The door usually had a creak to it, so you opened it as cautiously as you could in the event that Bucky had returned and was able to find sleep of his own. You crept down the hall, pausing suddenly when you heard the distant echo of a voice. It sounded a little like yours.

 _“Bucky, please,”_ you heard your voice carry down the hall. It was impossibly quiet, muffled through the speaker of a phone. A recording, it sounded like. You took a step into the living room to find Bucky hunched over on the couch, a phone pressed to his ear as his head set in his hand. His back to was to you.

_“You promised you’d answer. You promised.”_

A skip in your heart and your breath caught in the back of your throat, a paralyzing ache deep in your stomach. He was listening to the voicemail.

He wiped at his eyes, sighed heavily as he pulled the phone from his ear, tapped a button and it message began again. 

_“B-Bucky, please. I_ _need you to answer. P-Please, Buck. Shit. He was here. He was just here!_ ” your voice begged through the recording and you winced. You could barely remember what happened after Rumlow left the bar and before you recognized Bucky kneeling next to you under the desk. You hadn’t realized how terrified you sounded; crying and voice cracking through nearly every word.

 _“Please, I need you. C-Call me back. I’m – fuck– I’m scared,”_ it continued. You watched as Bucky raked his hand through his hair, gripping the phone so tight his knuckles were white. _“Please. I don’t know what to do. No one’s– no one’s here. It’s just me. Bucky, please. You promised you’d answer. You promised.”_

Bucky pulled the phone away from his ear only long enough to press a single button. To your horror, you watched as he began listening to it again, your voice echoed through the small speaker for the third time.

Unable to take a second more, you made your way towards the couch, careful on your footsteps to avoid the loose floorboards. It took until you stood at the end of the couch before Bucky realized you were there. His eyes shot up to you, red and rimmed with tears, as he scurried to tuck the phone back in his pocket.

“Y/n,” Bucky gasped, rubbing his eyes with the corner of his sleeve. “What are you doing up so late?”

Unable to form words, you sank down onto the couch next to him. Your hand reached out to grab his but he yanked it away, recoiling on instinct and muttering an apology under his breath. He had flinched away from you like this before in the week since you’d been staying with him, but it didn’t seem to lessen the sting in your heart each time it happened.

You pulled your hands back into your lap. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Bucky looked away, a nervousness about him as he shook his head. “I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard you listening to the voicemail, Buck.”

His muscles visibly tensed and he ran his hand over his face, tugging at the dryness on his lips. It had been years since you’d seen the blue in his eyes; the true, honest blue that lit up when he smiled and carried a world of vibrancy behind them. They had been clouded in shame and self-loathing since that night one week prior and you craved it more than anything else.

Tears welled in your eyes. “How many times do I have to forgive you before you believe me?”

Bucky shook his head ever so slightly, unable to look away from the floor as he leaned over his knees. “What I did isn’t forgivable, Y/n.”

“I get to decide that, not you,” you retorted sharply, your voice cracking at the effort. Bucky clenched his jaw. Giving yourself a moment to steady your racing heart, you took in a deep breath before you spoke again. “How long have you been doing this?”

He didn’t respond. Shame spread through him and you knew this wasn’t the first night he had listened that voicemail on an endless loop. Your heart broke at the thought of him sitting out here all alone, replaying that awful recording for hours and torturing himself over it.

“You can’t keep punishing yourself, Bucky,” you begged. “I need you to be here, _really be here._ Not with your head stuck back in that night. Please. I’m okay, Bucky.”

“What if you’re not next time?” he asked suddenly and you had to strain your ears to hear him he spoke so softly. His whole body slumped. He was exhausted. “What if next time, I’m too late?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, a whisper of trepidation in your voice. Bucky finally turned to you and you placed your hand on the side of his face, thumb brushing over the scruff he hadn’t had the energy to shave. You sighed, a warmth filling your chest as he leaned earnestly into your touch. “All I know is I miss you, Buck, even when you’re sitting right next to me. I miss you.”

Bucky opened his eyes, big blue orbs staring up at you carrying the weight of the world.

“I know how bad you want to keep me safe,” you exhaled, a tear falling down your cheek. Bucky reached up to brush it away and you shivered at the feel of him on your skin. “You are incredibly loyal and protective and– I’ve never felt as safe as I do when I’m with you. You beat yourself up and punish yourself again and again because you care so deeply that it’s tearing you apart. But I need you to stop, Buck. Please. Stop punishing yourself.”

A silence took over as Bucky chewed on his lips, his eyes darting back and forth, trying to process what you said. Then, an unsteady breath, and he admits, “I don’t know how.”

Your hands grasped at the sides of his face, begging him to look at you. Soft bristles of his beard scratched over your palms. You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his forehead, holding him there against you as he sighed in such relief you felt the waves of tension lift from his body. You pulled back only slightly, enough to lower yourself to meet his eye.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, brushing a fallen tear as it ran down his cheek. You leaned closer, enough that your nose brushed his and you could feel his breath warm on your skin. “Just be here with me. Right now. Just be here.”

Bucky nodded, blinking away the tears woven amongst his lashes. Your fingers continued brushing gently over his jawline. Forehead to forehead, you held him against you for several months, giving him the time he needed. You were content to spend forever in that minute.

Slowly, you felt his hands wrapping around your waist, careful traces along your skin that sent shivers up your spine. He was breathing harder, apprehensive ocean-blue eyes flickering up to yours, so impossibly close.

Then, in a moment of courage, his lids fluttered shut and lips pressed delicately against yours. You gasped against him from the shock of it and he nearly pulled away before you locked your hands behind his neck and kissed him again. 

It was soft, gentle, and aching. The kind of kiss that was wet from tears and the sweet relief of a lifetime of agonizing longing. It was like he was exposing decades worth of heartache and need with every touch, every brush of his lips igniting something deep within you. He laid you down on the couch, careful of your head as he settled between your legs, resting his chest against yours.

His tongue traced your lower lip and you parted them further for him, fingers raking gingerly through the soft strands of his hair. A blissful kind of dizziness in your head as Bucky’s hand ran down the fabric of your t-shirt and slipped beneath it, calloused hands against the supple skin of your stomach. His lips trailed off to the corner of your mouth to your jawline, then to your neck as he started to suck at the crook of your collarbone.

His hand was hesitant as he trailed it up your stomach. Breathless, you stretched your neck to the side for him, giving him more access to your skin. You could feel his hand against your hip, itching to move further along your body but he kept it still. Knowing he needed something more than the subtext of consent, you reached down and rested your hand over his. Slowly, you guided him up to the curve of your waist to cup your breast, urging him to touch you.

Blue eyes met yours, almost surprised, and you nodded at him. Bucky’s finger brushed over the hardened nipple, more confident now as he elicited a gasp from you. Your hips bucked up against his and he bit on his lip to suppress a whine.

“Take it easy on me, doll,” Bucky pled between kisses to your neckline. There was a trace of a laugh, a piece of his old self in his voice, that made your eyes start to water. He had spent so much time hiding from you, torturing himself for events he couldn’t control, withholding the kind, sweet, quick-witted man you knew. Seeing that part of him again, hearing the teasing tone in his voice, the light-hearted banter that reminded you so much of his early days in your bar before the chaos of Hydra invaded your life, brought tears to your eyes. You had missed him more than you had realized.

As Bucky kissed in lines along your collarbone, you brought your hand up to your eyes to wipe the tears before he could notice, but he was too attentive for that. He lifted his head, concern flooding his features as he yanked his hand away from your breast, pulling it out from under your shirt.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice panicked. “What did I do?”

“Nothing, Buck. I just really missed you,” you exhaled with a smile of relief upon your face. Bucky furrowed his brow, confused, and you pulled him down and kissed him chastely. “Please, don’t stop now.”

Bucky nodded, a careful smile lifting his lips as he sat back far enough to pull his shirt over his head. He tossed it over the back of the couch towards the bedroom. He glanced over his shoulder, towards the door, thinking, before he jumped up off the couch and scooped you up without another word.

“Bucky!” you yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders as he hulled you into his arms and carried you to the bedroom. You laughed, kissing at his neck as he gripped you tight under the knees and behind your back. He twisted to the side as he walked through the doorway, careful to watch for your head and feet as he passed through. Once he set you down at the edge of the bed, you crossed your arms at your waist and pulled your shirt over your head, throwing it towards the dresser. Beneath, all that covered you was the thin layer of your underwear. The pendent of your necklace hung down by your breasts.

Bucky sighed, his eyes falling down to your exposed chest. He shook his head. “Jesus, Y/n. You’re gorgeous.”

“And you’re wearing too many clothes,” you baited, hands dipping under the hook of his jeans and pulling him towards you. Your knees caught on the back of the bed and you fell down onto the mattress, your hair circling above you in a halo. Bucky looked down at you like you hung every goddamn star in the sky.

Snapping from his gaze as you propped yourself up on your elbows, raising an eyebrow at him impatiently, he pulled the belt from his waits and slid his jeans down over his hips. As he stepped out of them, your gaze darted down to the outline of his arousal prominent behind his briefs. Noticing your stare, Bucky chuckled lightly under his breath before he crawled onto the bed, caging you under him.

Your hands ran up his sides, causing him to shiver as he settled atop of you. His lips returned to yours, sucking and pulling at one another enough to send an ache down to your core. You pushed your hips up against him, searching for relief, and Bucky flinched. You could feel how hard he was and you were burning with anticipation begging have him inside you, stretching you, filling you.

“ _Fuck_ , Bucky, I need you,” you moaned, grinding against him again, and he chuckled.

“Patience, doll,” he breathed, kissing sweetly at your earlobe before he started to trail his way lower down your body. “I’ve got you.”

A kiss to your collarbone. A kiss to the top curve of your breast, then to your nipple where he pinched and sucked into the warmth of his mouth. He swiped his tongue over the bud as you arched against him, fingers combing in his hair. He moved down to your stomach, kissing and licking down to the top of the only remaining fabric shielding you from him. He looked up at you, eyes pleading before you nodded and he slowly pulled the material away. He sat back, sighing as he looked at you.

“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?”

“Maybe you should show me,” you purred, wiggling your hips and Bucky’s hand palmed at his cock through his briefs just to ease his own aching.

“Don’t even have to ask, sweetheart,” Bucky licked his lips and lowered himself down to your core. His hands slid around your thighs, holding you still as he licked a long stripe between your folds. You gasped, bucking against his face, too sensitive from the anticipation.

His breath was warm against you and you could feel him smile as he ran his tongue over your clit. He sucked it into his mouth and your hands grasped at his hair. He moaned hungrily as you tugged him where you wanted him and he began rubbing himself against the mattress.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you panted, eyes squeezing shut as Bucky slid a finger inside you, curling towards him as he circled your bud with his tongue. He added a second finger and you started to feel dizzy. He pumped them slowly, in rhythm with the movements of his mouth, until he felt you start to clench around him. He started to pick up the pace, moving more irregularly and sucking harsher at your clit.

“Bucky, _ah,_ baby, right there,” you chanted, gripping his hair tight in your fist. Then, as he hit that sweet spot inside of you and swept his tongue with just the right amount of pressure, your release hit you and your walls trembled around his fingers. Your back arched off the bed as you pushed your hips harder against him, sweet pleasure washing through your body. Bucky worked you over as you came back down, kissing softly at your hipbone before he pulled his fingers from your core.

“Wow,” you exhaled, panting as you settled against the bed. Bucky grinned, kissing his way back up your body until he reached your neck. You grabbed the sides of his face and brought him back to your lips, kissing him eagerly and tasting yourself on his tongue.

When you pulled back, completely breathless, you found yourself smiling so wide it hurt. Bucky raised an eyebrow, a little confused, but he couldn’t see the blue in his eyes the way you could; how the light you had missed so much had returned.

You reached down for the waist of his briefs, but Bucky pulled away with a gasp. You narrowed your eyes, the pang of hurt from the night one week prior still in your chest.

“Please don’t run from me again…”

Bucky shook his head, an unexpected nervous laugh escaping him. “No, doll, it’s not that. It’s just,” he blushed, redder than you’d ever seen his cheeks, “I won’t last if you touch me and I— _fuck_ , I really just want to be inside you.”

You pursed your lips together, nodding, and trying to hide the way his words sent shivers down your spine. “Next time, then.”

A flash of relief passed over Bucky’s features, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he would get the chance to be with you like this again. He bent down and kissed your lips before he started to tug down his briefs, tossing them over where he had discarded your underwear.

His cock stood proudly, hard, as he lowered himself back on top of you. The head, red and swollen, was dripping in precum and the thick vein running along the underside looked as though it was pulsing painfully.

“Forgive me, doll. It’s been a while,” Bucky said nervously, noticing your stare.

“You’re perfect, Bucky,” you insisted, never having meant something more in your life. He kissed your lips and you couldn’t help but feel something more than lust and desire in its movement, something stronger.

“Do I need a-” Bucky stammered, looking over to the dresser. He bit his lip.

You shook your head, hands grabbing down at his hips to urge him closer. You couldn’t wait anymore. “On the pill,” you replied in a gasp as the head of his cock brushed over your clit. Bucky twisted his face, trying to hold himself back.

“You’re sure about this?” Bucky asked, a lingering doubt in his voice.

You pulled his lips down and kissed him again, slowly, longingly. When you pulled back, you brushed your thumb over his lower lip. “About you? Always.”

Bucky kissed you again, smiling against your lips as he sank into you in one slow thrust, your body more than willing to compensate for his size. Your walls stretched around him, a tinge of pleasurable pain as you took a breath to adjust. You could feel Bucky’s lips on your neck as he shuddered at the feeling.

“You good, doll?” he whispered in your ear and you could hear the strain in his voice as he tried to stay still for you.

You nodded, your hands wrapping around his shoulders. “Need you to move.”

Slowly, Bucky pulled out, just to the edge of his tip before he sank in again. You groaned, pushing your hips up to meet him halfway when he thrusted into you. His face dipped into the crook of your neck as he began to pick up in pace, his arms caged around your head. He pressed desperate, messy kissed to your shoulder as you slithered your hand down between your bodies and rubbed circles on your clit.

“ _F-fuck_ , Y/n,” Bucky grunted as his hips started to become more erratic. “Tell me your close, baby. I’m begging you.”

You nod, unable to form words as the pressure began to build at your core, walls clenching around him, a soothing ache so wonderful you could have spent hours in it. Then, as Bucky sucked at purple the mark already forming at the base of your neck, you came hard, crying out his name as you clamped your hand over your mouth.

Bucky nudged it away as he kept chasing his own release, prolonging your high. “Wanna hear you,” he panted, snaking his hand down your bodies and replacing your fingers rubbing at your clit. He took over, pressing smooth gentle motions against the sensitive nerves as you gasped.

“So close,” Bucky huffed, his voice shaking. You kissed at his jawline, fingers trailing along the subtle discoloration of bruising along his abs yet to heal fully. “ _Ah_ \- Y/n, _f-fuck-_ “

He twitched inside of you, his arms shaking from the exertion as he continued thrusting sloppily through his high. You took every ounce of what he could give you, filling you whole, as he lazily began to still. You pressed your lips to his forehead as he collapsed on top of you with a heavy sigh. You brushed back his hair, smiling sweetly as he laid his head on your chest.

After what felt like the culmination of a century within only a few moments, Bucky lifted himself and pulled his soft cock out from inside you. He hulled himself up and hastily stalked off to the bathroom where you heard him turn on the faucet. He came back only a moment later with a washcloth, having already cleaned himself off. He smiled sheepishly at you as he dipped the washcloth between your legs. It was warm against your sensitive nerves, but he was careful, gentle with you as he cleaned. Once he was done, he tossed it back to the floor of the bathroom and crawled into the bed.

“You’ll stay?” you asked hesitantly, worried he would find a reason to escape at any minute.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a flash of regret from the night one week previous, before he settled in next to you, adjusting the pillow under his head. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever leave. That okay with you?”

A smile filled your lips as you nodded, turning on your stomach to tuck your arms under the pillow. Faces only inches apart, breaths easily felt upon one another’s skin, it was the most relaxed you had been in months.

Slowly, almost apprehensively, Bucky reached out and picked up the pendent of your necklace, examining it in his hands. You had never let anyone else touch it before, feeling too sacred for foreign hands. He handled it so delicately, like it was an extension of you. A few moments later, he set it back against the mattress, giving you a smile in appreciation, for allowing him to share this part of you, something beyond the physical.

After some time, after Bucky had begun lazily tracing patterns on the bare skin of your back, you found yourself getting lost in the colorful shades of blue of his eyes.

“I love you, too, you know,” you said, thinking back to what you had overheard the previous morning and watched his reaction carefully. He paused, eyes flickering up to you; shock, panic, realization, awe, all washing through his features. He licked his lips, taking a deep breath and resumed drawing the lines on your skin.

“You heard that, huh?” Bucky sighed, daring to meet your eye. He swallowed. “Does it scare you?”

You pondered that for a moment. A lot of things scared you. Rumlow, for one. The possibility of closing your bar for good. What could happen to your father as he spent the next forty years in prison. Any of the one-four getting hurt trying to protect you – or worse. Something –or someone—taking Bucky away from you. 

But not this. Bucky loving you was a gift, a beautiful miracle among a sea of nightmares. From the darkness Hydra wrapped you in, Bucky gave you a light. Maybe there was a time when that would have scared you, where you would have recognized his feelings, or yours, and blindly ran in the opposite direction and you have. But that was before you had learned to trust him, to care for him, to rely on him. Before he made you laugh and brought about a sense of relief whenever he walked through the door.

Bucky Barnes was your safe haven now. Nothing scared you when you were with him.

So, you shook your head, smiling sweetly at him as you pulled yourself closer to his body among the sheets. He sighed contently, letting his arm drape over your back as you curled up against him. With you pressed against his chest, your steady breaths warming his skin, Bucky slept well for the first time in months. 


	8. Eight

You awoke the next morning to soft snoring; low, gentle vibrations in each exhale. Blinking open your eyes, you found Bucky fast asleep next to you, the yellow light seeping in through the crack in the curtain softly illuminating the muscles on his back. His hands were tucked under the pillow as he laid on his stomach, facing you.

A smile pressed at the corners of your mouth as you watched him scrunch his nose in his sleep. You curled up on your side, pulling the blankets up further to cover yourself against the chill of the room. Steadily, you reached out to him, letting your fingertips trace gentle patterns along the freckles in his back.

You could feel the hardened muscles underneath, flexing as you dragged your finger along. You sighed contently as you attempted to memorize the sweet look on his face as he slept, the only moment you’d ever seen him with his guard completely down. In those moments, an innocence came back to him he didn’t have in the daytime. 

Your finger passed over the nape of his neck as you continued drawing lazy patterns against him and he shivered. Slowly, he opened his eyes, careful to avoid the harsh influx of light. When blue eyes came into focus, a hazy smile spread on his lips. You let your hand trace down his arm before you brought it to curl against your chest.

“’Morning,” Bucky murmured, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“’Morning,” you replied, biting on your lip as you shivered at his touch.

Bucky let his hand come down to the mattress and he turned himself onto his side, the sheets bunching at his waist. He scooted a little closer to you and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I like waking up to you,” he mumbled against your hairline, the warmth of his breath brushing your skin. Your hand snaked to the back of his neck to pull him to your lips, but he resisted, chuckling sweetly. “Might need to brush my teeth first, sweetheart.”

“Don’t care,” you muttered as you pressed your lips to his before he could protest. He gave in easy; smiling against you as he kissed you back. It was so natural to touch him like this, to hold him and be held; it was like a second instinct or a piece of yourself you had been missing for a lifetime, so tangible that you could it feel beneath your hands. You could feel his hand cup at your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone and you leaned further into the touch of him.

Your fingers played with the hairs along the nape of his neck as he turned onto his back, pulling your weight on top of him. You giggled against his lips, kissing him sweetly one last time before you pulled back.

“I like waking up to you, too,” you grinned up at him, pressing forward again to kiss him chastely before settling on his chest.

“Careful,” Bucky chuckled and you reveled in the feel of the vibration against your bare chest. His hand wrapped at your waist, holding you tight against him. “If you spoil me too much, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

You propped yourself up, chin resting on your hands upon his shoulder. “Who says I want to?”

***

When you finally dragged yourself out of bed, Bucky offered the shower to you while he scampered off to the kitchen. When you were finished, you threw on one of his longer t-shirts that fell down to the mid of your thighs and a pair of clean underwear. Scrunching the ends of your hair with the dry sections of the towel, you pushed open the bathroom door back to the bedroom and a waft of blueberry pancakes and bacon filled your senses.

You beamed, almost giddy, as you hung up the towel on the hook and pranced down to the kitchen. Bucky was standing over the stove top, his back to you as he hummed quietly to himself, flipping the sizzling bacon in the pan. You folded your arms, leaning against the wall as you watched him.

Navy sweatpants, emblemed with ‘NYPD’ running down the thigh in bold yellow letters, hung low on his waist. His chest was bare, showing off old scars on his back and the purple and blue discoloration on his chest. He pulled the last piece of bacon from the frying pan and set it on the paper towel next to the stove. He brushed his hands on his sweatpants and turned off the knob before he spun around to carry the bacon to the table.

He froze as he spotted you watching him with a grin upon your face. He laughed, setting the bacon down amongst the stacks of pancakes, syrup, and freshly brewed coffee. He even had the cup of sugar and exact brand of mocha creamer Sam always stole from Nat sitting by your mug. Bucky took his black, but he always seemed to notice the small things.

“How long have you been there?” he asked, pulling out the chair for you.

You laughed, skipping over to the table and pressing a kiss to his cheek before you sat down. “Not too long. Seems like your senses are a little clouded this morning, Detective.”

Bucky shook his head, biting on his lip to hold back his grin unsuccessfully. He sat down at the seat adjacent to yours and reached out to place two pancakes on your plate. He handed you the syrup before you asked.

“Wonder what could have possibly caused that?” he remarked teasingly, stealing a glance at you as he took a bite of bacon. “Certainly can’t be what we did last night.”

“Definitely not,” you agreed, your smile so wide it began to hurt your cheeks.

Bucky paused, staring at you a little too long as you began cutting your pancakes. You raised an eyebrow at him, taking a bite and moaning at how delicious it was. He chuckled softly.

“You look gorgeous by the way,” Bucky eyes trailed over you before he took a sip from his coffee. You raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the oversize faded t-shirt and the few strands of semi-dried, borderline frizzy hair that had fallen into your face. You narrowed your eyes on him quizzically and he shrugged casually, taking another sip from the steaming coffee.

“I like how you look in my clothes,” Bucky added, a grin curving on his lips though he didn’t look over at you. “Reminds me that I know what’s underneath.”

You feigned offense and shoved his shoulder enough for him to drop his bite of bacon into his lap. He chuckled, shaking his head, and you worked on committing the sound to memory.

A half hour later and you and Bucky had devoured everything on the table. Plates stacked upon one another and pans left unwashed in the sink for the time being. Two cups of coffee in, you brought out your book to read as Bucky typed away at his laptop, stealing glances over at once another every few minutes.

It was peaceful. Domestic, almost. Like you were living in Bucky’s apartment for a reason other than the impending possibility of Hydra discovering your identity. You had relocated to the couch as Bucky cleaned up the dishes from breakfast, insisting he was happy to do it and urged you to continue reading. Bucky’s quiet humming as his hands slipped under the running water, pressing soapy bubbles against the dirty plates, nearly lulled you to sleep.

When he was finished, he brought the laptop over to the living room for the first time since you’d been staying with him. You smiled up at him as he gestured for you to lift your feet and he settled in beside you, resting the laptop on the arm of the couch as he brought your legs down to sit in his lap. As he scrolled through the computerized files, his free hand ran soothingly along your shin, stopping every once in a while to massage at your calf.

For a while, as you glanced up at him from the top of your book, you forgot why you were staying with Bucky in the first place.

***

Several hours later, Bucky had agreed to take a break and watch the first few episodes of The Office with you once you’d learned he’d never seen it before. It took a bit of convincing to get past the first episode but he caved when you promised it only got better from there. There was a subtle implication that you’d be willing to sit there and watch the entire series with him, no matter how long it took, and it was possible he only gave in because he knew it would keep you around a bit longer, maybe even after the chaos settled down. 

Four episodes in, you were curled up against his side, his arm draped over your shoulders as you held a warm up of tea to your chest. Bucky was talking at the tv again, as he usually did, begging Michael Scott to not do whatever cringe-worthy antic he was about get wrapped up in next, when a loud knock came from the front door.

Heads whipping to face the door, you set the mug on the coffee table as Bucky began to stand. You quickly shut the TV off, your hands noticeably trembling. The knocking pounded out again and Bucky reached for the drawer by the couch. He slipped his hand inside and slowly pulled out a small handgun you hadn’t realized he kept stored there.

“Go to the bedroom,” he urged, whispering quiet enough as to not alert whoever was on the other side of the door. You swallowed, eyes glancing nervously towards the knocking. Bucky’s hand grabbed yours, squeezing once, before he tugged you towards the bedroom. He kissed your forehead. “Go.”

You nodded quickly, snapping out of your trance. You were only a few steps away from the bedroom door when a voice shouted out, “Open the goddamn door, Barnes! We gotta talk!”

_Sam._

You exhaled in relief as Bucky groaned loudly, shoving the handgun back in the drawer and sending you an apologetic look. As he jogged to the front door to let his partner in, you scurried off to the bedroom to put on some shorts, realizing you were still without pants and not exactly presentable for guests. You could hear the pounding continue, even as Bucky undid the locks.

Sam pushed his way inside, grumbling under his breath, as you emerged from the bedroom. “Do you ever answer your phone? _Jesus Christ,_ Barnes.”

Bucky scratched the back of his head nervously and you paced over towards them. You handed Bucky a light grey t-shirt. He took it, nodding in appreciation as a light flush rose in his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he was still shirtless when he answered the door.

Sam glanced between the two of you, raising an eyebrow and clearly having put the pieces together. There were too many careful looks between you and Bucky, the proximity of your stance, the very clear lack of clothing, and the subtle mess in Bucky’s hair he usually kept so perfectly coifed. Sam was just on the verge of what was likely to be some sort of sass filled remark that would get Bucky’s eyes rolling when Peter scrambled in through the front door and drew away his attention.

“Sorry, I was parking the car,” Peter panted, hands on his hips as he tried to catch his breath. He looked to Sam. “You tell them yet?”

“I’m getting to it, punk,” Sam gritted through his teeth. He turned to face Bucky, face scolding like a parent. “Where’s your damn phone?”

“I saw it on the nightstand this morning,” you offered, folding your arms over your chest.

“Figures,” Sam grumbled, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Don’t need your phone if you’ve got the one person with you you’d need it for, right?”

Bucky looked over to you for support and you only shrugged. He nodded apprehensively, though judging by the irritable look on Sam’s face, you should have figured he was setting Bucky up for a trap.

“ _Wrong,_ you friggin’ idiot!” he bellowed, throwing his arms in the air as he started to pace back and forth. He jabbed his pointer fingers at Bucky’s chest. “You need to be available to us in case we need you! In case we have _vital_ new information!”

“I already updated the team that my informant didn’t give me shit last night, what else do you need?” Bucky argued back, shoving Sam away from him.

You looked between the two of them as they continued going back and forth, but you found your eyes settling on Peter as he swayed in his stance nervously. He met your eye for only a moment before they darted down to the floor and his hands started to fiddle anxiously at one another. It appeared Bucky wasn’t the only cop with a knack for taking on misplaced blame. You were about to walk over to him when a lull in the argument passed and a brief silence took over.

“Look, I’m not here to argue with you, Buck.”

“Then why are you here?” Bucky grunted, folding his arms over his chest.

Sam glanced over at you apologetically before a sort of sadness and regret washed over his features in a way you never expected to see in him. Nerves began to fire in your stomach.

“There’s a mole in the precinct,” Sam admitted with a heavy sigh and your heart plummeted. The weight of your pendent increasingly heavy on your chest. Bucky’s shoulders slumped, any trace of his frustration with Sam melting away instantly. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “We can’t be certain that whoever it was has leaked Y/n’s identity to Hydra yet, but three of our officers got ambushed on what was supposed to be a clean op last night. They’re all in critical condition. That couldn’t have happened unless there was a mole feeding Hydra intel.”

“ _Fucking hell,_ ” Bucky cursed, raking his hands through his hair and you stepped closer to him on instinct. His hand grasped yours as you looked up at him. His jaw muscle visibly clenched. “What do we do?”

“Cap’s preparing a place in Jersey,” Sam said, glancing at you sheepishly before returning back to face Bucky. “There’s no indication that Hydra knows about Y/n yet, so we’re just taking precautions. Nat’s on her way now with the car to take you to the safe house. Steve will meet you there with supplies. We’re ahead of this right now, but we gotta move.”

Bucky nodded, running his free hand over his mouth anxiously and you squeezed the hand intertwined in yours. His eyes met yours and he attempted a reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“My bet’s on Ward,” Sam grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. “Slimy little bastard. I saw him eyeing the file I wrote up after Rumlow paid a visit to Y/n last week before I could pass it on to Stark. Never trusted that guy.”

“I can’t believe there’s a mole,” Bucky gaped, shaking his head in disbelief. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“We had to know at some level,” Sam countered, his voice even, almost reassuring. “We kept Y/n’s identity as the witness limited to six people when we could have had the whole precinct looking into it. It would have been more efficient, more eyes and ears searching for leads, but we kept it quiet. We knew; a part of us did, anyway.”

Bucky nodded, a heavy exhale in his chest. He turned to you. “Why don’t you get your things together? I’ll run over the details with Sam.”

He squeezed your hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the knuckles, not bothering to care when Sam began to smirk to himself.

“You mind helping me out, Pete?” you asked softly, letting go of Bucky’s hand. Peter’s head snapped up, like he was shocked to hear his own name. He bit on his lip, looking around for another Peter in the room because you certainly couldn’t be talking to him. You gave him a smile in hopes to ease his obvious anxiety.

“Go on,” Sam nudged, stepping behind Peter and physically pushing him lightly in your direction. Peter stumbled a bit as he moved towards you, stealing a quick glance in your direction before his eyes fell to the floorboards again.

As you walked to the bedroom with Peter in tow, Sam and Bucky pulled out the chairs at the table and their voices carried down the hall. You gestured for Peter to follow you into the bedroom and you jogged over to your suitcase sitting in the corner. Peter quickly raced ahead of you and grabbed it, hulling it up to lay it on the bed.

“Thanks, kid.”

“What can I do to help?” Peter asked nervously, scratching at the nape of his neck, eyes darting around the room.

“I have some conditioner and toiletries in the bathroom if you want to grab those? Might as well grab Bucky’s too,” you said with a heavy sigh, realizing there wasn’t a chance Bucky would stay behind. You glanced back at the dresser filled with Bucky’s things and by the time you turned back, Peter was already gone.

You took the opportunity to change into street clothes; throwing on a pair of jeans and a basic t-shirt. Then, you gathered your clothes from the hamper and shoved them all in your suitcase, figuring you’d just wash them when you got to the safe house. You already had so little with you; you couldn’t afford to leave these behind.

Pulling out a few of Bucky’s drawers, you grabbed some of his necessities, the clothes worn in color he wore most often, and the navy bomber he wore the first night he came into your bar looking for a drink. It managed to make his eyes stand out more than they already did and you had grown quite fond of it. Then, you laid out a spare pair of jeans and a red Henley he’d worn a handful of times on the bed. 

Peter emerged from the bathroom with a pile of overflowing bottles in his arms and your razor fell to the ground before he could dump them into the suitcase. You bent down to retrieve it but Peter was too fast for you, again, and grabbed it before you could, mumbling an apology under his breath as he nearly swiped it straight from your grasp in the effort. He tossed it onto the pile.

“Is there, uh, anything else?”

You watched him carefully as he chewed on the dry skin of his lip, hands tucked into his pockets. Peter was a nervous kid at baseline, always looking for something to do and help out the people down at the station he so clearly admired, but this was a new level, this was different.

“You okay there, Pete?” you asked slowly, reaching out and setting your hand on his arm.

He nodded, though he kept glancing at the door. He let out an exasperated sigh. “I think Detective Barnes hates me.”

You frowned, your heart breaking for the kid. “He doesn’t hate you, Peter.”

“But I left,” he countered, a lingering ache in his voice. “He told me never to leave unless someone came to relieve me and I left anyway. I left you alone and then that Hydra guy came in and-”

“Peter, stop,” you urged, hands squeezing his shoulders. “You had to go out on that call. You know you did. Bucky does, too. No one could have possibly known Rumlow would chose that night of all nights to walk into my bar.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, I- I know. I’m just glad you’re alright and you don’t, uh, seem to hate me, either.”

You smiled, leaning forward to hug him. It took him a moment but he returned the embrace, hesitant arms setting very slightly against your back. When you pulled back, Peter was able to meet your eye, though it didn’t last very long. It was more back to his baseline, anyway, so you’d take it. He helped you close the suitcase and wheeled it out to the living room.

Following closely behind, you came to find Bucky and Sam still sitting at the kitchen table talking quietly to one another, though from the cadence in their voices, it sounded tense.

“Hey guys,” you called, alerting them to your presence as Peter set the suitcase by the front door. Sam gave you a tight-lipped smile while Bucky glanced over his shoulder in your direction. He let out a heavy exhale and muttered something to Sam you couldn’t quite hear.

You slipped on your sandals as Bucky stood from the table. He paced over to you and kissed your forehead casually before he half jogged down to the bedroom to change.

Sam leaned back in his chair, arms folding over his chest as a cocky grin started to slowly tug at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t even trying to hold it back. You shook your head, finding his smile contagious as always.

“Don’t even say a word,” you warned, half a laugh escaping you despite the circumstances at hand. How you managed to stumble into this group of people who found a way to ease every last worry you could possibly encounter was beyond you. You’d say it was luck, but with Hydra on your back, you figured maybe not.

As you shrugged on your jacket, you heard Bucky’s footsteps approaching from the bedroom, having changed into the clothes you laid out for him. He smiled appreciatively at you as he bent over to slip his sneakers on.

A loud buzzing came from the phone sitting on the table by Sam, startling you somewhat, as he reached to grab it.

“Nat’s here,” Sam informed, eyes settling on Bucky and suddenly it felt real.

Bucky nodded, his hand snaking down to yours and squeezing it lightly. “Did you grab your book?”

He asked as though you were going on a vacation, like your life wasn’t in imminent danger from an informant in the one-four. You nod, glancing back at the living room couch. He must have already grabbed his laptop.

“She’ll be in the black sedan out front,” Sam said as he made his way to the door. “Parker and I will be ahead of you in my impala. You know what it looks like, Barnes.”

With a nod from Bucky, Sam and Peter made their way to the door. Sam stopped to pick up your suitcase on the way out and then, you were alone. You found yourself staring at the opened door, the anxious feeling building again in your chest, making it hard to breathe. A tight squeeze in your hand and it started to alleviate before it even began. Blue eyes watching you carefully with an aurora of concern and you forced out a smile.

“You ready, doll?”

You shrug. “Ready as I’ll ever be to go to some police safe house to escape Hydra retaliation.”

Bucky smiled softly at your attempt to lighten the mood, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He lifted your intertwined hands to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. He started walking towards the door and gently guided you along with him.

“It’ll be nice,” he offered. “It’s a pretty secluded cabin surrounded by forest. There’s a lake not too far from it as well. It won’t be like a concrete prison, I promise. We can pretend it’s a vacation. Play house a little more.”

You passed through the frame of his apartment door and found a genuine smile on your face, even as you turned to take one last look back into his home he was willingly leaving behind for you. A pressure in your palm again and Bucky was urging you on. You reached out and closed the door behind you.

It was busier on the streets than you would have thought for it being so early. Pedestrians bustled along the sidewalks, heads down, shoulders hunched as they hurried to their destination; some even appearing to talk to themselves through the small microphone in their earbuds.

You felt Bucky’s hand pull you carefully as he led you down the stairs towards the street. True to Sam’s word, Natasha was leaning against a black car, arms crossed as she eyed those walking by suspiciously.

When she spotted you, she pushed herself off of the car and crossed the sidewalk to you, not bothering to wait for a break in the stream of bypassers as they naturally moved out of her way. She had that kind of energy about her. She had wrapped her arms around your shoulders before you knew what was happening. Bucky released your hand and you returned the embrace, closing your eyes and reveling in the floral smell of her hair conditioner.

It had been a long time since you had any real friends outside of the off handed comments with your patrons down at the bar and though your friendships with the members of the one-four were only glimpses into each other lives, you felt like you had known them for years. Perhaps, it’s easier to form bonds when there’s a constant threat on your life. Some kind of evolutionary survival instinct.

Nat released you and stepped back, her warm smile sitting subtly on her lips. She turned to Bucky, giving him a slight nod before she jogged back down to the car and swung around to the driver’s seat. Bucky jumped ahead of you to open the door and allowed you to slide in before he closed it behind you, hastily making his way around to the other side of the car.

It smelled like leather and cleaning products, faintly of bleach. As Buck sat down next to you, closing the door behind him, you found yourself subconsciously leaning closer to him. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and you let your forearm rest on his thigh. A soft kiss to the crown of your head, his breath warm against your hair, and Natasha switched on the ignition.

She pulled out into the busy traffic and you looked out the dashboard, watching for the impala Sam had mentioned. Sure enough, it pulled out of a parking lot just before Natasha could pass it, settling in the space one car ahead of you.

You were stuck in traffic for a while; the tedious condition of living in one of the busiest cities in the world. Having left your phones behind at the apartment to avoid a potential trace, you began picking at your nails to bide the time. It was a bad habit you hadn’t done in years. After some time, Bucky’s hand wrapped over yours, a silent plea to relax. You nod and close your eyes as you lean back against his shoulder. His fingers began tracing delicate patterns along your arm.

What felt like an hour later, but was likely only twenty minutes, you had made it out of the stand-still traffic. Still within the city limits, but moving at a steady enough pace that it didn’t feel like you were crawling. You glanced up at the rearview mirror, curious when you noticed Nat’s eyes flickering up at it every few seconds. Green eyes narrowing as she did, before she’d turn back to the dashboard. You could feel Bucky tense against you.

“What’s going on?” you asked carefully, glancing between the two of them.

“We’ve got a tail,” Nat replied flatly, not bothering to hide it from you. You appreciated her for that. She was never one to lie to you, or anyone, just to ease anxiety. Especially in times when it really mattered. She reached for the walkie attached to the right side of the dash, hiking the cord over to her as she clicked on the transmission. “Wilson. You there?”

A few moments, a steady static. Then, “yeah, I’m here.”

Nat’s eyes darted up at the rearview mirror again before she shook her head, gripping the walkie’s receiver. “We’ve got company. Black SUV. Highlander. Two cars behind me.”

You moved to look out the back window yourself when you felt Bucky’s hand on your shoulder. You raised any eyebrow and he shook his head. The concern in his face was enough for you to sit back without any questions.

“I got him,” Sam replied, voice muffled by the radio. “I’m gonna try and shake him. Think you can keep up, Romanoff?”

Nat snickered under her breath. Leave it to Sam to help bring back a sense of normalcy in even the worst of situations. “Don’t challenge me, Wilson.”

Sam’s impala took a right hand turn at the traffic light ahead. Nat followed behind, her eyes flickering up at the review mirror to watch for the SUV. You studied her carefully and when she gritted her teeth you knew the SUV had followed. The impala took a left, Nat close behind, and still, the SUV was on your tail.

“He’s right behind me,” Nat said into the walkie. She was watching the mirror more than the road.

“Well, let’s pick this up then,” Sam’s voice came through and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. You could only imagine the look of panic Peter was sending his way from the passenger seat.

Then, the impala took a sharp right turn, disappearing down a narrow one-way street. Nat followed quickly behind, the tires screeching at the effort. Her stare met Bucky’s in the rearview mirror and you could see the panic hidden behind the green of her eyes – and Natasha was _not_ one to panic. You didn’t have to look to know the SUV had followed. You’d been made.

Nat reached over at the glove compartment, popping open the lever and grabbed the handgun stored inside. You looked over to find Bucky pulling his weapon from the holster he had strapped to his hip. It was odd to see him handling a gun while in his civilian clothes, without the shiny gold badge drawing attention. Frankly, it was jarring to think of him as someone who could be deadly, who could take a life, since you’d only known him as the quick witted, flirty, pain in your ass down at the bar and as the soft, gentle, loving, and guilt-stricken man you grew to love. 

“Be ready for a fight,” Nat said into the walkie, though her eyes flickered back at Bucky. “They’re not going to let us leave the city without-”

A thunderous _BOOM_ and suddenly the impala was in the air, its front tire colliding against an explosive that sent it spiraling upward in the blast of red and orange flames. 

It all happened in slow motion. The cars around it skidding out of the way, screeching tires piecing in your ringing ears. The impala crashing down on the pavement on its roof, the glass shattering the windows. Natasha hulling the car to a stop, breaking sudden enough to twist the car on a right angel to the road in an effort to avoid crashing into Sam and Peter.

_Oh God-_

You were scrambling for your seatbelt, desperate to get to them, but Bucky gripped your forearm so tightly you winced at the pain of it.

“Don’t move,” he ordered harshly, harder than you’d ever heard his voice. “Don’t leave this car for anything. Do you understand?”

Your eyes were drawn up to the side view mirror as you watched men clad in black clothing step out of the SUV; three on the left, four on the right. They were all draped in semi-automatic rifles. At the front, directing the three men towards the impala, and leading the remaining three was Brock Rumlow.

 _“Do you understand?”_ Bucky demanded again, shaking you from your trance. You tore your eyes away from the men in the mirror approaching the car to find Bucky staring frantically at you, blue eyes rapidly scanning your face for recognition. His breaths were coming in heavy.

You nod quickly and the first echo of gunfire broke through the sound of the flames burning at the engine of the impala and the horn blaring from the impact. You yelped and Bucky’s arms instinctively dove to cover your head. He shoved you down to the floor of the car, his body on top of yours.

“Listen to me,” he urged. “ _Listen!_ This car is bulletproof. They can’t hurt you as long as you’re in here. Don’t fucking move, Y/n. I’ll be back for you.”

Bucky hulled himself off of you and panic coursed through your veins. You jolted upright and Bucky shoved you back down.

“What about you? You can’t go out there!” you shouted over the rain of gunfire. You glanced up at the driver’s seat to find Natasha was already gone, out amongst the gunmen. Bucky parted his lips but nothing came out. Something caught his eye out the window and he winced at whatever he saw. He started moving closer to the door. He reached behind him and unlatched it. Blue eyes met yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite place as his mouthed ‘ _I love you.’_

Then, he was gone.

Alone in the car, you curled up against the floor, hands shaking as they clamped down on your ears. Dings of metal and the splitting of glass cracking in conjunction with the sound of the bullets firing from automatic guns were deafening inside the car. You looked up to see indents from the bullets lining the walls of the door and small metal pieces stuck in web shaped circles amongst the glass. Bucky had said it was bulletproof, but _God–_ it looked like it would shatter at any minute.

You tried not to imagine what was happening outside of the safety of the car or who was taking on the gunfire. You tried to erase the vivid images burning behind your eyelids of the four people tasked with protecting you falling down to the pavement, one by one, as a bullet tore straight through them. Nothing could push it from your mind. Not even when you wrapped your hand tight around your necklace, desperate for the protection your father claimed it would give you. The edges dug at your palms enough to hurt.

What felt like hours later, a lull came over. Arms trembling underneath you as you pushed yourself up from the floor, you dared to peak out into the road. 

You spotted Sam first by the impala. Blood dripped down from his forehead and he was moving with a heavy limp on his right side. He was dragging something from the car behind him, shouting words you couldn’t quite hear through the muffled chaos. You leaned closer, squinting your eyes. Then, all at once, it came into view.

_Peter._

He was dragging Peter’s body along the pavement, a line of blood following in his wake. You couldn’t tell if he had been shot or if it was the explosion that did it, but as Sam dragged him around the dead body of one of the Hydra hitmen, a wash of relief came over you when you saw Peter wincing at the movement. His eyes were open. He was talking, clutching at his leg and some sort of jagged shard embedded in his thigh as Sam dragged him up to the sidewalk, shouting at some pedestrians hiding in the coffeeshop, gesturing down to Peter.

Slowly, two women emerged from inside, grabbing Peter by the arms and hulling him into the shop, away from the fire. Sam nodded to himself, wiping the blood from his brow before he turned back to the road. He yanked his pistol from his hip, walking with what appeared to be a heavy, painful limp. You followed his line of sight to where he was heading, turning to find Nat and Bucky standing with their backs to you, facing down Rumlow and two of his remaining agents. Two more bodies were scattered along the road, blood seeping through their clothes and eyes cast over, gone.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be!” Rumlow called, his voice still muffled by the doors of the car but clearer than Sam’s had been. “You’ve already killed three of my men and it looks like that kid you mascaraed as an officer won’t be far behind. No one else has to die today, Barnes. Well, except for the girl.”

“Shut your goddamn mouth!” Bucky bellowed, readjusting his stance as he continued holding his weapon aimed at Rumlow. Natasha was on his right, doing the same, as Sam slowly pulled up on his left.

Rumlow smirked. “Sensitive subject, I see. Look, I don’t have all day to chit-chat, so either handover the whore or I’m gonna take her from you and I don’t think you’ll like what happens when I do.”

Not even a second to wait for a reaction, Bucky began firing his weapon, letting out a scream that tore right through you. A series of metal plates extended from some sort of contraption on Rumlow’s forearm, forming a shield that blocked every bullet.

In the chaos, Nat charged forward at the Hydra hitman ahead of her, firing one warning shot before she climbed up on his shoulders, using his knee and hip for leverage, and swung him down until he hit the pavement, hard. She stood and fired a single shot at the man’s kneecap and he rolled over to his side screaming in pain.

Sam had meanwhile been jumped by the remaining Hydra agent, struggling against him as the man wrestled him down to the asphalt, his gun several feet away. You heart skipped as the man pulled out a knife, swinging it at Sam’s face with full force before Sam was able to block it with his forearm, the blade disappearing into his muscle. Before the Hydra agent could process what was happening, Sam yanked the knife out of him and proceeded to jab it into the man’s neck, blood spurting out the side as it poured down his chest and onto Sam. He shoved the man off with a grunt, leaving him to bleed out.

“Enough!” Bucky shouted, firing another shot at Rumlow, who ducked it easily. “You’re out numbered, Rumlow! It’s over!”

Rumlow lowered his shield, a pause of defeat upon his face for only a moment before his lips curved up into a wicked grin. That same kind of smirk that made your stomach twist into painful knots when you had met him in your bar.

“Not quite,” Rumlow shrugged. “I’m afraid you miscounted the men.”

The car door behind you unlatched and a violent grip on your ankle yanked you out of the car and down into the street. You looked up to find a man hovering above you, the barrel of a gun aimed at your forehead as he grinned, yellowed teeth bared as his eyes roamed down your body.

“Gotcha,” he spat, his grip snaking up to your collar and wrenching you to your feet. His forearm came down hard against your windpipe as he wrapped his arm around your neck, the warm metal of the gun pressed painfully against your temple. Your hands grasped at his arm, nails digging into the skin and drawing blood, as he dragged you out from behind the car into the open road.

Rumlow nodded towards you and Bucky turned around slowly. His shoulders slumped, lips parting, as a wave of desolation came over him for a moment as he met your eye. Then, just as quick, his features hardened, jaw twitching, as he spun back to Rumlow.

“Let her go, you fucking asshole!” he barked, his hands shaking as he emphasized each word with a subtle jab of his gun.

Rumlow smiled, tsking his tongue. “You take one shot at me and my guy will blow her brains out. You know she’s better off dead to me than alive. But I’m keeping her breathing, _for now,_ so be nice, Barnes.”

Bucky froze, eyes darting back to you. You clenched your jaw, hands gripping at the man’s arm as you struggled to find your breath. Nat and Sam were both staring at you. Nat’s weapon aimed at the man’s head while Sam, gun lost in the chaos, stood helpless but to watch. You balanced on the tops of your toes to give yourself reprieve to the crushing of your windpipe.

“Now,” Rumlow called, “drop your fucking guns and get down on your knees.”

Nat exchanged a glance with Bucky before he nodded ever so slightly, the energy draining from him in an instant. Slowly, all three of them raised their hands in surrender, lowering to the pavement. Bucky and Nat slid their guns several feet out of reach.

“Excellent,” Rumlow grinned, making his way over to collect the guns. He shoved Nat’s weapon into the band of his pants before he bent over to pick up Bucky’s handgun. He wiped his hand along it, admiring it as he examined the exterior. He raised it, a subtle nod almost in appreciation, before he clicked back the safety and fired a single shot at Sam.

You screamed out as Sam was forced onto his back by the momentum of the hit, clutching at his shoulder as blood oozed out between his fingers. He was groaning, rolling on his back in an effort to relieve the pain. Bucky’s arms were outstretched on the pavement, like he was about to crawl in Sam’s direction when Rumlow fired another shot, this time at Natasha.

Too panicked from the shock of it, you didn’t have time to react before she was curled up on her side, hands pressed to her thigh as red soaked through the blue of her jeans. You hadn’t even registered Bucky screaming until you looked over at him, his face red, seething, as he slammed his fists against the asphalt.

“Enough, Rumlow!” he howled, voice cracking in the effort, rough from use. His eyes darted between Sam and Nat, before they returned to the source of his anger. “Enough! This has nothing to do with them! Leave ‘em out of it!”

“Fine,” Rumlow snipped casually and paced up with steady intent until he stood just a few feet from Bucky. Then, he raised the barrel of the gun to Bucky’s head.

“No!” you screeched, choked back by the man behind you as he pressed down on your windpipe to silence you. You kicked at his shins, digging your nails in his arm, adrenaline pounding through your veins, but it did nothing to loosen his grip.

Bucky’s eyes met you, panic coursing through them, though he eased his hand lower to the ground, begging you to stop. You narrowed your eyes, confused, as you started to still. Bucky nodded at you, offering you the semblance of a smile when you stopped fighting.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Rumlow commented with a smug inflection, glancing between Bucky kneeling on the pavement next to him and you restricted in his lackey’s arms. He kept his stare on you as he pressed the barrel of the gun to Bucky’s temple, pushing it enough to make Bucky lean to the side. He studied your reaction as you visibly winced, you jaw clenching enough to bit down on your cheek, pooling blood in your mouth in an attempt to restrain yourself as Bucky asked. Bucky had his eyes close, his hand trembling as he gripped at his knee.

That same, sickening grin curved at Rumlow’s lips as his eyes narrowed on you, pleased with your reaction. You dared to meet his eye, only find an emptiness and a rage burning within them that set a harrowing ache in your stomach. He winked.

“Get her out of here,” Rumlow ordered, but before the man could begin dragging you down the street to the SUV, Rumlow licked at his lips, pausing. He crouched down beside Bucky, grabbed him tightly by the jaw to force him to look right at him.

“We’re bringing the cop with us.”

A hard hit to the side of your head.

Darkness.


	9. Nine

You woke with a harsh jolt to find yourself in a dark room. Squinting your eyes, you struggled to adjust to the lack of lightening, save for the dim flickering of the single bulb hanging down from a thin metal chain at the center of the room. You attempted to stand and you furrowed your brow when you felt a tug on your arms. Eyes trailed down to your arms to find restraints wrapped tightly around your wrists, binding you to some kind of wooden chair. You move to kick your legs, only to find them adhered to the chair as well.

Panic began to rise in your throat as your heart pounded loudly in your ears when you heard a soft groan ahead of you. Eyes snapping up to a figure sitting just a few feet away, bound in a similar fashion, chin resting on his chest.

It was dark, too dark to see clearly, but you could recognize that silhouette anywhere. Bucky.

Before you could call his name, the overhead lights flashed on, blinding you briefly at the intrusion. You squeezed your eyes shut, light still seeping in from behind the lids as you slowly blinked to adjust. When you finally opened your eyes again, you realized you and Bucky were not alone.

Rumlow stood just next to the door, leaning against the wall with a smirk upon his face. His arms folded over his chest as he pulled his finger away from the light switch. You tore your eyes away from him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.

Bucky had yet to regain consciousness but he was slowly coming to; head lulling side to side, trying to come back into himself. Having grown impatient, Rumlow made his way to the center of the room as grabbed a tight hold of Bucky’s hair, jerking his head up harshly to face you. A dark trail of dried blood ran down the side of his face where Rumlow likely hit him with the base of the gun to knock him out.

They must have done some damage to him after you lost consciousness, you realized. He didn’t have that kind of purple and blue bruising on his jaw or a swollen eye when you last saw him. You felt a painful ache in your stomach the longer you looked at him.

“Time to wake up, asshole,” Rumlow gritted, gesturing for a man standing beyond the door. He walked into the room; tall, dark black hair swept away from his face, with a boyish, handsome look about him despite his strong jawline. He didn’t look the Hydra type but as he chucked a barrel of ice water at Bucky and snickered under his breath when Bucky let out a pained gasp, shocked back into consciousness, you knew this man’s affiliations were exactly where they belonged.

Bucky panted as the water dripped down his hair, soaking his clothes. He was shivering violently, limbs restricted by the restraints. Wide eyes met yours and panic burned behind shades of blue. He scanned you briefly, looking for injuries, before his gaze fell on your neck. You imagined there was some redness, maybe bruising from the man who had kept you hostage out on the street, because he clenched down enough on his bit to draw blood.

Then, a cough to his left from the man holding the now empty bucket. Slowly, Bucky turned to face him and his features hardened impatiently. He clenched his jaw, muscle twitching at the effort.

“Ward… you fucking piece of shit,” Bucky seethed and almost immediately after, he was met with a violent fist against the side of his face. You gasped, flinching instinctively, as the sound of his knuckles collided against Bucky’s jaw. Bucky chuckled darkly, turning to spit out a mouthful of blood before he looked back up at Ward through narrowed eyes.

“Nice to see you again, too, Detective,” Ward replied smugly, shaking his hand off.

This was the officer Sam suspected to be the mole at the one-four. Clad in a tight black t-shirt and dark wash jeans, you almost didn’t recognize him outside of the blue uniform. It had been a blur when you saw him leaning over the woman in the breakroom the first time you had set foot in the station after Charlie’s murder.

Ward bent down, kneeling at Bucky’s eye level, studying him carefully. “You’re not gonna ask me why I did it?”

Bucky shrugged, sending him a rather disinterested look. “I always knew you were a prick. Always figured if someone came along and offered you a bit of power, you’d bend right over like an obedient little–”

Ward charged at him, wrapping his hands around Bucky’s throat. A hitch in your breath as you watched, only settled as Bucky started to laugh again. _How was he being so casual about this?_ It made your stomach twist into knots. His self-preservation instinct was long forgotten. Rumlow waved for Ward to back off and he obeyed immediately, dropping his hands. Bucky took a deep breath, stretching his neck, as he sent an amused look at Ward.

“Like I said,” Bucky taunted before he winked in Ward’s direction.

“You should watch yourself, Barnes,” Rumlow said, pacing around the room. “I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you. Considering who else is in the room.”

A hand slipping onto your shoulder, causing you to shiver. Bucky’s grin fell immediately and he began tugging at the restraints.

“ _Don’t touch her!_ ” Bucky growled, staring daggers into Rumlow as he fought the bindings at his wrists. The chair, bolted to the ground, creaked under him as he struggled against it.

Rumlow shrugged and he removed his hand from you. A wave of relief rushed over you and you slumped further into the chair.

“You’re not in the position to be making demands, Detective,” Rumlow taunted. He gestured for something out beyond the hallway and Ward quickly slipped out the door. A rustling clanging came from down the hall, the sound of wheels, metal. Then, Ward reemerged in the room, pushing a shiny silver cart. On top, laid a series of scalpels, knives, and various tools. You swallow but your throat ran dry.

“Now,” Rumlow began, reaching down for the scalpel, admiring it as he held it up to the light. He turned to face you. “You’re going to tell me where your bastard father hid the flash drive or I’m going to start carving up that pretty face of yours.”

You narrowed your eyes, confusion completely replacing the fear for a brief, peaceful moment. “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.“

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Rumlow snarled, charging towards you with the blade aimed at your cheek. You recoil against the cool metal as it touched your skin and you could vaguely make out Bucky shouting desperately to _‘get the hell away from her!’_

The knife dug into your skin, drawing a thin line over your cheekbone, eliciting a hiss from you. It happened so quickly, over before it began, though the sting lingered. Rumlow pulled away, admiring his work. The blood that trickled down the side of your face and down your neck tickled. You stretched to wipe it with your shoulder.

“I don’t know anything about a flash drive,” you spat at him, adrenaline coursing in you enough to bolster your conviction.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Rumlow gritted. “ _Is that it?_ Do you think that I would keep you alive if you were nothing more than some pathetic witness to a hit no one gives a fuck about?”

You pressed your lips together. Truthfully, you had been wondering why they hadn’t just executed you in the middle of the street, or the very second his lackey opened the door to the car you had been hiding inside. They could have shot you on sight but they didn’t. It didn’t make sense if they were only trying to silence a loose end. Clearly, they needed you for something more.

“You know, we didn’t even realize Y/l/n had a daughter,” Rumlow explained, referring to your father as he wiped the edge of the bloodied scalpel on his pant leg. “Tricky bastard kept you to himself all those years. When Ward here brought us your name and you so happened to be running the same bar good ol’ Y/l/n used as his export hub, I went and put the pieces together.”

You could sense Bucky watching you, scanning you for signs of distress, of reaction, but you kept your features stone cold. You didn’t know your father had kept you a secret from Hydra. He never once mentioned it in all your years growing up or since he was locked away.

“Before the DEA nailed him, he managed to get ahold of a very important flash drive,” Rumlow continued, pacing around to your other side. You kept your stare on the floor by Bucky’s feet. “It has a list of all the undercover Hydra agents. Police force, local government, business owners, prosecutors, doctors, you name it. So, you see why it’s important you tell me where it’s at.”

You shook your head. “Doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t know it even existed until two minutes ago.”

“Fine,” Rumlow sneered. He exchanged glances with Ward. “We brought along the cop for a reason. Let’s test him out.”

You raised an eyebrow, dread sweeping over you as Ward quickly bent down and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s chest from behind him, holding him steady in the chair. Rumlow picked up the knife from the cart and in one foul sweep, lunged it down into Bucky’s hand, pinning it to the wood of the chair. You shrieked. 

Despite his best effort, Bucky let out a grunt, panting heavily as he clamped down on his jaw to keep himself from screaming. Your eyes had blown wide, heart stopping for what felt like several seconds as Ward and Rumlow retreated away, laughing amongst themselves. The knife was still lodged in Bucky’s hand as he wiggled his fingers.

“I don’t know anything about a flash drive!” you screamed, jerking your body against the restraints. They burned on your wrists, rubbing painfully at the skin. You could hardly feel it.

“And I don’t believe you!” Rumlow shot back reaching forward and yanking the knife from Bucky’s hand with no warning. He couldn’t hold back the shout this time as the serrated edges caught against his skin, blood spraying on the floor as Rumlow shook off the knife.

“Bucky!” Panic stung in your veins, desperate to get his attention.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, slowly lifting his head to meet your eye, though you could tell by the clench in his jaw and the twitching of his muscles he was lying. Blood dripped down his fingers onto the concrete below. “I’m okay, doll. Don’t tell ‘em shit.”

“Ain’t that sweet,” Ward grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

“Makes me a little sick, personally,” Rumlow replied as he picked up a fresh blade. You didn’t have time to react before Rumlow darted forward and plunged it into Bucky’s left shoulder. Bucky shouted, his voice aching and raw, hands clenching at the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned sheet white.

“Stop!” you cried, tears welling in your eyes before you could hold them back. “Please! I don’t know anything! My father never told me about a flash drive!”

“Not good enough,” Rumlow growled, yanking out the knife and cutting a long jagged line up Bucky’s forearm, trailing blood in its wake. Bucky flinched, his face contorting to swallow back the pain, though it did little to ease his suffering.

It went on like this for what felt like hours. Back and forth. Rumlow would ask you about the flash drive you knew nothing about. Unsatisfied with your answer, he’d plunge another knife into Bucky or carve his way across Bucky’s skin. After they bloodied the visible skin on his forearms, they ripped open his shirt, exposing fresh skin and spent a particular amount of time carving small, deep, concentrated marks into Bucky’s left shoulder, marring it over completely.

Tears were streaming down your face and you begged for Bucky to look at you, but he was becoming so light-headed he could barely focus on what was right in front of him, let alone meet your eye. His head was bobbing, dizzy from the blood loss, from the constant pain. He had stopped crying out several cuts ago. It was like his body had grown numb. You wanted to feel relief at this, that he no longer seemed to be in pain, but it only seemed to make the pit in your stomach worse.

“Please,” you begged on an endless loop, exhausted from the exertion, “please, leave him alone.”

Your chin fell against your chest, unable to watch as Ward and Rumlow continued snickering to themselves, taking turns marking up Bucky’s skin and drawing blood. You wished you were stronger, that you could have held yourself together for Bucky’s sake, but when faced with the worst of humanity you knew there was nothing you could do to stop it. There was nothing but helplessness.

A flash of gold caught your eye and you looked down to find your necklace as swung out from behind your shirt in the struggle. You stared at it, a resentment building the longer you felt it weigh against the rise and fall of your chest. Your father had been nothing but a liar. He had told you once it was meant to protect you. Some good luck charm it was. It was nothing but a hunk of metal. Unless. Pointless. Maybe if it was worth something you could have leveraged it for–

Your breath hitched.

_Holy shit._

Leverage. _Blackmail._

Fuck.

Fuck fuck _fuck._

“S-Stop, please, Brock,” you gasped, your voice having grown hoarse from screaming. Rumlow paused, glancing over to you, intrigued by the use of his first name. You met his eye, heart racing painfully beneath the pendent. “I’ll… I’ll tell you where it is.”

Rumlow raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Ward. Bucky slumped over as they pulled away from him, giving his body an ounce of relief. You swallowed despite the dryness in your throat, keeping your eyes training on Bucky. He lifted his head slowly, as if it took all of the energy left in him to do so. He narrowed his eyes on you, apprehensive of your confession.

“Well, sweetheart, let’s have it,” Rumlow urged, a near jittery excitement in his voice.

“First, tell me why you killed Charlie,” you bargained, a newfound confidence surging behind the layers of anger and anguish he elicited with every carve to Bucky’s skin.

Rumlow smiled at the that, seemingly impressed. He shrugged. “That old man? Just orders from the chief. I don’t ask questions.”

“I’m sure you have your suspicions,” you countered and you’re not surprised when he nods. He began twirling a small blade between his fingers.

“He was a known partner of your father’s. We suspected he knew of the list,” Rumlow explained, ever so keen to monologue. “When it became obvious he didn’t, he was nothing more than a liability. He had to be dealt with.”

You sighed, feeling no respite from his reasoning. Rumlow raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. When you took a moment too long, he groaned impatiently and lunged the blade he had been fidgeting with straight into Bucky’s abdomen.

“MY BAR! It’s at my bar!” you shrieked, panicked as Bucky barely even recoiled at the intrusion, and Rumlow removed the knife. You didn’t dare take your eyes off Bucky for even a moment. Blood streamed down the small ripples of his exposed stomach; dark red oozing and coating over his skin until it dripped onto the floor beneath him.

“There’s a safe under the cash register,” you continued, voice shaking, “Inside, you’ll find a rifle. On the back wall of the safe, in the upper left corner is a latch. Open it and the flash drive will be in there.”

Then, you turned to face Rumlow, a look full of distain and loathing upon your features. Rumlow grinned, shaking his head with a laugh. He walked over to Bucky and slapped his hand on his wounded shoulder, coating his palm in blood.

“Would you look at that? You’re expendable, Barnes. Even to her,” Rumlow taunted, removing his hand and wiping it along Bucky’s chest, smearing the blood.

Rumlow picked up the gun from the table, cocking it loudly. “Now, if I get to that bar and I don’t find the flash drive, better believe I’ll be coming right back here to ask again and next time I won’t be so nice about it. You understand?”

You nodded carefully, keeping your expression as void of emotion as you could manage. Rumlow gestured for Ward to follow. He sent one last wink in your direction over his shoulder before the door latched shut, clicking several locks in place before you were alone again.

“You shouldn’t have lied to them,” Bucky gurgled weakly before he spit blood from his mouth. It dripped down his lips as he struggled to meet you eye. He was swaying, barely able to keep his head up.

“What choice did I have?” you replied, eyes flashing towards the closed door. “They were killing you, Bucky. Besides, I couldn’t let them know I figured out where it really was.”

“You _what?”_

“I think it’s in my necklace,” you confessed, and Bucky’s eyes narrowed on the gold pendent. “I told you my father said it would protect me but… I don’t think he meant in the way I thought.”

Bucky slumped, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He knew it would be all the leverage I needed if Hydra ever came after me,” you explained. “If I turn this thing over to the feds and they’d give me whatever I wanted. New life somewhere nice. New identity. This necklace could be the key to taking down Hydra for good. Maybe even expose their entire operation.”

Bucky nodded, trying to take in what you were saying but his eyes were falling heavy.

“I wish he had been a little less cryptic about it,” you huffed, the semblance of a smile on the curve of your lips. “That would have been helpful information a few months ago.”

Bucky smiled, ever so slightly, but it fell just as quickly, his energy not allowing him much else. His head bobbed forward and you could tell he was fighting losing consciousness. Dark red pooled on the concrete beneath him. He’d lost too much blood.

“Bucky!”

He jolted upright, blinking rapidly.

“I need you to stay awake, you hear me?” you begged, tugging on your restraints. He nodded drowsily.

A moment of silence. The room filled with nothing but the sound of your breaths and the drops of Bucky’s blood from down his elbow to the concrete floor.

“What happens when they come back and they found out you lied to them?”

You licked your dried lips. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I just needed to do something to get them away from you.”

“You can’t tell them about the necklace,” Bucky pressed, though his voice was weak. He was using all of his energy just to meet your eye. “No matter what they do to me, you can’t give that up. Do you understand?”

You narrowed your eyes, shaking your head. “Bucky, they could–”

“I know,” he exhaled, eyes falling to the floor. “They might kill me. But think of all the people who lives you’ll save if you can get that thing to Steve. You have to think of the greater good, here.”

“Screw the greater good, I’m not going to let you die!”

“You might have to, sweetheart,” Bucky slurred, his voice trailing off as his head slumped forward again. You waited a moment for him to jostle himself back to consciousness, but when a moment too long passed by and he hadn’t moved, a jolt of panic ripped through you.

“Bucky?”

He remained still. Hair had fallen into his eyes; his fingers having lost their tight grip on the arms of the chair.

“Bucky!” you shouted his name again, jerking your body towards him. The restraints against you bound you in place, rendering you as nothing but a witness, helpless.

“Bucky, wake up!”

Again, nothing.

You froze, tears in your eyes blurring your vision. “No, no no nonono. Come on, wake up! Don’t do this!”

You let out an aggravated scream as you tugged at the restraints with all of your strength. Then, a subtle click and your right hand hitched a little further, a small space between your skin and the wood of the chair. The crisp air stung against the burns as you stared down at it in shock. You tugged again, wincing at the tension against your raw skin. Then, the sound of a light tearing at the stitching ripped. You pulled at it carefully and the cuff slowly fell to the ground. You lifted your hand examining the ruby red burn marks upon your skin. In the moment of relief, your eyes glanced back at Bucky to find him still unresponsive.

Frantically, you began working at your left wrist, feeling around the underside of the chair for the buckle. Once you were able to undo the latch on your left wrist with ease compared to your right, you bent over and began working at the bindings on your ankles. Tiny marks of blood oozed from your wrists from the burn of the restraints, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pay much attention to it as you freed your legs from the chair.

Unrestricted, you sprang to your feet and all but lunged at Bucky. Harsher than you meant to, you gripped the sides of his face, jerking his head to you. You brushed the hair from his eyes to get a better look at him, wincing at you touched the open wound on his forehead. Eyes shut and lips parted slightly; he was out cold. You leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before you released him and knelt by his side to start undoing the binds on his wrists.

Right hand undone he slumped forward towards you and you placed a steady hand on his unmarked shoulder for support. Then, a moment later, his left was loose.

“Almost there, baby,” you whispered under your breath, unfastening the restraints on his legs. Once he was free, you stood back to your feet, pulling his right arm around your shoulders and hulled him upwards. You only got him standing for a few seconds before the dead weight kicked in and the weight of him brought you both to the ground.

“ _Shit,_ ” you cursed, turning Bucky onto his back so he wasn’t putting pressure on the wounded left shoulder. A smear of blood imprinted on the concrete in its wake.

Eyes glancing towards the door every few seconds, waiting for Rumlow and Ward to walk through at any second, you scurried back to your feet and tried to ignore the amount of blood that Bucky was leaving behind in this room. You bent down to lift him again, exerting all of your energy as you tugged on his right arm. Sweat beaded on your forehead and you still hadn’t been able to get him off the ground. You collapsed with an exasperated pant, wiping the sweat from your hairline. 

“Go,”

Your eyes snapped up to find Buck blinking slowly, just on the edge of consciousness. You scrambled over to him, crawling on your knees over the harsh indents in the concrete until you leaned above him, hands brushing the hair from his eyes.

“Leave me,” he mumbled again, voice so quiet on the edge of a breath you could barely understand him. His hand, covered in dark red, reached out for you and you clasped your hands around it, the sticky wetness of the blood pooling between your palms. Tears burned in your eyes as you shook your head rapidly.

“Don’t ask that of me,” you begged, a pang in your chest as Bucky’s head slumped to the side. He was losing consciousness again. “Don’t you dare.”

“They’ll be back soon,” Bucky exhaled heavily, his eyes falling shut. “Please, go.”

“I’m not leaving you!” you cried, shaking him as his body fell limp, unresponsive once again. With a paralyzing fear throbbing in your veins, unsure you’d ever want to know the answer, you adjusted your grip on his hand, feeling for his wrist and pressing two fingers to his pulse point.

Slowly, faintly, you felt a steady rhythm beneath your touch. A sob raked through you and you leaned down, setting your head on his chest, tears dripping from the bridge of your nose to his scarred skin.

You clenched your hands into fists. They were covered in his blood.

***

What could have been hours later, you still hadn’t moved. Your legs had cramped, muscles sore against the cool, impossibly hard surface of the ground. There was no way to tell the passage of time in this room. All you knew was eventually, Rumlow and Ward would return and when they did, that would be it.

Bucky was right. You wouldn’t be able to give Rumlow the necklace, not in exchange for your own life and not for Bucky’s. Not when, in the right hands, it could expose the vilest organization the city had ever known and destroy them from the inside out. The same organization that corrupted your father, a man down on his luck in his early thirties who had stumbled his way into trafficking drugs when he couldn’t pay back his small business loans. They had promised him help in his time of need and then drowned him in a debt he’d never be able to repay, not without joining their cause.

You’d die before you let that happen to another family.

Head throbbing from the very exertion of crying for so long, you found you had nothing left in you. Perhaps you were too dehydrated at this point for more tears. You sat next to Bucky, holding his right hand tightly in your own, pressing your lips against the broken knuckles, trying to memorize the feeling. You wiped the fresh blood away against your jeans, leaving behind a light red stain on his skin.

You had tied makeshift bandages to his arm, stomach, and hand, made of the spare pieces of Bucky’s shirt they had ripped in order to find more canvas to carve upon. They were soaked red with blood.

Bucky’s head rested in your lap and you ran your free hand through his hair, praying he would find some sense of peace amongst the pain in his body. Careful strokes against his scalp, watching the involuntary twitches in his face and you pretended he was only sleeping.

Then, a rustling came from the other side of the door.

Scattered footsteps.

A series of loud grunts and a clanging against the door.

You couldn’t bring yourself feel even a semblance of fear. You knew Rumlow would lose it when he saw you and Bucky out of the restraints. Perhaps it would all be over soon and he’d forget about the flash drive and kill you on the spot. The idea brought you some relief, at least.

The locks on the door began to click and the heavy metal frame swung open. You turned away from the two men walking inside, cast in shadows by the influx of light behind them. Entirely unwilling to face the monsters that had torn and carved and mutilated the man you loved. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of your fear.

When Rumlow and Ward returned, you had expected screaming, cursing, harsh hands lunging down at you and yanking Bucky away. You expected rage and punishment;anything other than the complete silence that followed. Glancing up at them, you narrow your eyes suspiciously as one of the men fell to their knees with a heavy thud.

Eyes slowly coming into focus, adjusting to the light now absorbed in the room, your heart nearly gave out at the sight. Blonde hair. Blue eyes.

_Steve._

His hands were reaching out to Bucky, drifting over the wound on his abdomen then to the one on his arm where had blood soaked through the makeshift bandages. Hovering carefully over the mess of bloody patches on his left shoulder, Steve let out a painful sigh. He brushed at his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head. He didn’t even know where to start. You didn’t know either.

“We gotta get them out of here, Cap,” the voice behind him urged, stealing glances back out the open doorway. _Tony._

Steve nodded quickly, seemingly coming back into himself as his arms slid under Bucky’s broken body in an effort to lift him. Suddenly, your hands jutted out, gripping at Bucky reflexively.

Wide eyes bore into Steve’s and you tried to form words but nothing came out. You clenched at Bucky, trying desperately to draw him closer. You were shaking so violently that Steve set hand his atop of yours. You swallowed, tears blinking in your eyes as they fell in streaks amongst the dried blood on your cheeks.

“I- I tried to—”

“I know,” Steve assured you softly, not needing to know the rest of your confession before he absolved you. He squeezed your hands lightly, enough to communicate a world of regret, and slowly pulled your grip away from Bucky’s arms. Soft blue eyes that reminded you so much of Bucky’s did not leave yours for even a moment as he carefully set your hands to the side.

“I’m going to get him somewhere safe, Y/n. But I gotta do it right now. Do you trust me?”

You stare at him, a glimpse of uncertainty tugging at you, the knowledge of the Hydra infestation in the police force prominent in the back of your head. But as you watched his eyes fall down to Bucky, the panic and fear so abundantly evident upon his face, you reached up and gripped the pendent around your neck. With one hard tug, you yanked at the chain until it snapped, holding it out for him. It was the first time you had taken it off since you put it on all those years ago. He narrowed his eyes on you, looking back to exchange a glance with Tony.

“Take it,” you begged, jerking your hand towards him. The gold burned against your skin.

Steve nodded slowly, holding his hand out as you dropped it into his palm. He stuffed it into his pocket, a clear confused look in his eyes though he didn’t question it. There wasn’t time.

You slowly dragged yourself away from Bucky, giving Steve the room he needed to hull Bucky over his shoulder, draped like a rag doll. He grunted as he stood, legs trembling as his right arm snuck up around Bucky’s side to hold him secure on his shoulder. You watched, curled against the wall as Steve made his way towards the door, Bucky’s body dangling, blood dripping onto the floor with every step, lifeless.

“Hey kiddo,” Tony’s voice called softly, pulling you from your trance. You turned to find him taking a knee next to you. He offered you a careful smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

You nodded, taking his hand as he offered it to you. When you didn’t let go, he didn’t say anything. You were thankful for that, at least. He guided you steadily to the door and instructed you to keep your eyes up. There wasn’t a moment to question what he meant before your foot caught on something just past the door. You looked down to find the bloodied body of a Hydra agent lying face up, eyes staring off unfocused at the ceiling. You swallowed and Tony urged you on.

By the time you walked outside, you were surprised to find the sky had covered in a layer in dark blue. Hadn’t it been morning when you were taken? How long had you been held in that room? You squeezed at Tony’s hand in some attempt to find comfort in it the way Bucky had done for you, but there was a gold band around his ring finger that ripped at your fantasy. It wasn’t the same. It didn’t feel right. He wasn’t Bucky.

Tony led you down the stairs of the building, guiding you out towards the flashing blue and red lights illuminating the empty parking lot. You looked up to find you didn’t recognize a single building around you. It was too spacious, for one. You couldn’t be within the city limits.

“W-where’s Bucky?” you asked, glancing to Tony. You couldn’t find Steve anywhere amongst the sea of officers clad in uniform blue. Tony gestured to the ambulance at the end of the road, roaring its siren and speeding off in a sharp right turn that took it out of view.

“There wasn’t time to wait,” Tony replied, watching for your reaction. He must have sensed the panic creeping in your veins because he added, “Steve’s with him. He’s not alone.”

Heart falling back to a normal pace, you nodded slowly. You pressed your lips into a thin line, the most of a smile your body would allow. You knew Tony and Bucky didn’t get along, but you appreciated his attempt to ease your concern. Tony was a complex man; one that went from interrogating you, demanding intel on Hydra he believed you knew in your first interaction, to sharing a glass of scotch a few months later as he took up shift as your bodyguard of the day. A good single malt healed most wounds.

“Y/n!”

Your eyes snap up, searching for the voice. Tony led you down to the sidewalk and you spotted Sam rushing in your direction. His forearm was bandaged up, his other held in a sling with a massive bandage wrapped around his shoulder where the bullet had pierced through him. He shoved past an officer, mumbling an apology as he gripped the man’s elbow for support.

Tony stepped aside, moving to scold a reporter who had impatiently crossed the yellow tape, and you threw yourself at Sam. You wrapped yourself against his good side, holding your arms around his waist as he stroked your back with his free arm. He smelled faintly of disinfectant and cologne.

“Come on,” Sam urged, glancing around at the officers gathered in a circle talking to one another. “I’ll sneak you to the hospital before the press gets winds of you.”

You nodded, keeping a tight hold on him as he weaved you through the crowd. His hand pressed into your back, keeping you grounded against him as you approached the mass of reporters and cameras. Sam threw the edge of his jacket around you and you kept your head down when he asked, obstructing the view of your face so you could slip through unrecognized. When you reached the police car sitting at the edge of the crowd, you exhaled a breath of relief.

“Are you okay to drive?” you asked Sam warily, eyeing his injured shoulder.

He shrugged as he unlatched the driver’s side door. “I got myself here in one piece. Figure if I can escape from the hospital and one very pissed off nurse and drive to the warehouse where some psychopath is holding my friends hostage without crashing, I can get my partner’s girl back to him just fine.”

As you slid into the passenger’s seat, you were surprised to find a smile tugging on the cracks in your lips. It hurt a little but you didn’t mind. Sam dropped in next to you, closing the door behind him and he nudged you gently on the shoulder.

“He’s in good hands, you know,” Sam offered, turning on the ignition. “Best surgeons available for New York’s finest.”

You nodded, feeling a semblance of relief in your chest before, “what about Nat? And Peter?”

“Still in surgery last I checked,” Sam replied, sensing your influx in anxiety. He pulled out into the road and made the right turn the ambulance had taken. “The bullet that caught Romanoff clipped the edge of an artery so it’s taking longer than expected. Parker, he uh,” Sam sighed, his fingers clenching the wheel, “he had a lot of burns from the explosion and a piece of the car got jammed up in his leg. It’ll be a while before he’s out.”

You watched him carefully, studying the way his jaw clenched. It was so familiar. You’d seen it too many times at this point. It broke your heart.

“You cops need to learn to put the blame on the assholes who deserve it,” you said flatly, almost in a scolding tone. “Not yourselves.”

Sam chuckled under his breath, nodding to himself as he looked over in your direction. You offered him a small smile which he returned with ease.

It was always easy with Sam. There were never any expectations or pressure to put on a mask. He didn’t question your panicked flinch when you had reached up to clutch at your necklace, only to find it wasn’t there or when several minutes passed by between telling you some mundane story from the one-four to ease your mind before you’d respond. 

He was smarter than most gave him credit for, more observant too. He’d deny it though, waving it off through some kind of witty one-liner or changing the subject. Sam preferred to be the source of light in the one-four. He kept to his pranks and his flirting and his banter that drove Bucky insane because he knew they needed it. Maybe, he needed it a little too.

When he came up on a red light on the border of the city line, you swallowed the dryness in your throat, turning to face him. You had spent the last several minutes trying to build up the courage to tell him about what you learned from Rumlow. Part of you wanted to wait until you got to the hospital, afraid of how he might react. But, as he glanced over at you with that encouraging smile of his, you figured now was as good a time as any to tell him one of their own was betraying them.

“You were right.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Ward,” you continued with a heavy breath, “Ward’s the mole.”

A tilt of his head, a shrug in his shoulder, and sighed. He was calm, too calm for the reaction you were expecting.

“I know,” Sam confessed after the light turned green and he pressed down slowly on the gas. “I had a few of our officers’ stationed at your bar, just in case. Thought maybe they’d send some of their goons out there to trash the place for fun. Ward and Rumlow walked right into it; friggin’ idiots. Barton arrested them a few hours ago. It was how Steve and Tony knew where to find you.”

You bit down on your lip, sinking back into the passenger seat in shock. “And they’re able to hold them?”

Sam laughed at that. “Hell yeah. We’ve got enough evidence against Rumlow to keep him behind bars until his trial. Ward will be a little tougher to stick, but Commander Fury isn’t going to let him out of his sight.”

“It feels too easy,” you sighed.

Sam shrugged. “Sometimes things are allowed to be easy. You don’t always gotta question when things go right for once.”

“Maybe,” you said, staring at the window as the blur of city lights came into view. “Haven’t had a lot go right in my life.”

“Could be a good time to start,” Sam offered sincerely. He paused. Then, “on second thought, might want to hold that off until after we can restore your bar again. It kinda got caught in the crossfire. Rumlow and Ward didn’t go down without a fight and the place suffered a bit for it.”

“Had to be something, right?” you shook your head, the smile against your broken lips aching your cheeks. Good ol’ Sam.

***

The rest of the ride to the hospital was silent; comfortable, just watching as the colored lights blurred together as you passed by, listening to Sam hum softly under his breath to whatever was on the radio. It was almost as if the last 24 hours hadn’t happened. The stinging around your wrists and the faded red stains in your skin the only reminders.

He left the police car out front and asked one of the officers stationed by the door to park it around back for him. You appreciated Sam for that. He knew better than to leave your side, even if it was with one his uniforms. Couldn’t trust anyone but their own, and for now, that meant a small circle within the one-four.

Sam led you to the elevator and up to the eleventh floor where Steve was waiting. He sat in the far corner of the empty waiting room, tapping his foot and wringing his hands as he leaned over his knees. It smelled of cleaning supplies and the disinfectant wipes you had recognized on Sam earlier. As the elevator doors shut behind you, Steve’s head popped up having noticed your arrival.

“They took him back to the OR a few minutes ago,” Steve said before you could ask. He was good about that. He wiped his palms on his slacks and stood to his feet, making his way over to you. “Why don’t you take a seat? We’ll see if one of the nurses can come take a look at you.”

You nodded apprehensively. “Any word on Peter or Nat?”

Steve clenched his jaw as he set a hand on your back to lead you over to the chairs. Sam was already over at the nursing station.

“They’ll be finishing up with Natasha any minute now. Last update they said they were closing her up. She’ll need a ton of PT, which I’m sure she’ll despise, but she’s stable. She’ll be just fine,” Steve said with a sad smile. He took a deep breath. “Parker is still in surgery. A piece of metal from the car got lodged in his leg during the explosion and he, he suffered a lot of burns. They’re trying to do as much as they can right now to limit how much work they’ll need to do later. It’ll be a long recovery but he’s a strong kid. If anyone’s got the optimism for it, it’s him.”

Pang of guilt burned in your chest and your tried to remind yourself exactly where the blame belonged instead of taking it on yourself. It didn’t stop the ache in your stomach when you thought of him; sweet, young, energetic Peter with an endearing nervous energy, one of the trusted few members of the one-four who happily agreed to walk you to your bar every night without question. He was too good, too kind for this job. You prayed to a God you weren’t sure you believed in that he wouldn’t lose that piece of him.

Steve helped you sit down in the chair facing the long hallway where you expected the surgeon emerged from to deliver updates. He took a seat next to you and you could feel his eyes on you, looking for injury outside of the cut along your cheek.

“Did you look at the flash drive yet?” you asked quietly, glancing over at the nurse’s station where Sam was still trying to get the attention of the older woman in scrubs. She was wearing headphones, bouncing her head along to the beat of whatever she was listening to.

“Flash drive?”

“The necklace,” you clarified and Steve pulled it out from his pocket. He handed it back to you and it felt odd sitting in your hand, like it hadn’t been something you had twisted and grasped at your whole life trying to draw the comfort your father claimed it possessed.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half. From the hallow chamber of the pendent, a USB drive so small it resembled a microchip fell into your hand. You sighed, a relief spreading through you as you handed the chip to Steve. You were right.

“Hydra has moles everywhere. It’s not just Ward. That drive will give you every name Hydra has on payroll, including in the one-four,” you went on to say. Steve didn’t seem surprised, he only nodding in acknowledgment. He must have suspected. He was too smart not too.

“It’s the reason Rumlow held me and Bucky for so long. They thought I knew where it was. Funny thing was, I didn’t even know it existed until he brought it up. Once I figured out it was in my necklace, I sent them on a goose chase to the bar.”

“Shit,” Steve sighed, running his hand through his hair as he shoved the chip into his pocket. “Can’t believe Sam thought to have our guys stationed there. Rumlow and Ward walked right into it. Some luck.”

“Don’t let Sam hear you say that. He’s taking full credit for bringing them in,” you teased, surprised by the light-hearted tone in your voice. Steve smirked, shaking his head as he settled back in his chair. You looked up to find Sam waving frantically at the poor nurse who had yet to notice him.

Some minutes later, as you watched Sam arguing with the nurse whose attention he finally caught, Steve let out a heavy sigh. “You sure you just want to hand this to me?”

You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to continue. He pulled the chip from his pocket, examining it closely.

He shrugged. “This is some serious leverage, Y/n. If you brought this to the feds, they might arrange a deal for your dad. You could ask for almost anything and they’d make it happen.”

“If my father wanted to use it to get himself out of his sentence, he would have,” you considered slowly. “He gave it to me before he was arrested. He knew they were coming. I think he–” you sighed, “He wants to serve his time. He knows the horrible shit he got caught up in. He never meant for it to go as far as it did, but it happened. He was still responsible for the distribution of drugs that fell into the hands of innocent kids. If he wanted the easy way out, he would have traded this to the cops then.”

Steve nodded. “You sure you don’t want a beach house somewhere? Maybe a new identity as a soccer mom?”

“I’m just fine where I’m at,” you laughed, leaning further back in your chair. You eyed the drive between Steve’s fingers as he fiddled with it before your gaze fell on the double doors leaning down to the operating rooms. A sigh, a little more somber, “I’ve got a bit of an invested interest now, I suppose.”

Steve grinned, though he tried to suppress it as he followed your gaze. “Yeah, I guess you do.”


	10. Ten

An hour had passed without word from the surgeons beyond the double doors at the end of the hall. The nurse Sam had been bothering finally agreed to come look at you, though when she laid eyes on the light red stains upon your hands and the knife wound along your cheek, she perked up immediately, calling for another nurse as she passed by. She had chastised Sam for not telling her the state of your condition and he all but threw a silent tantrum behind her as she spoke to you, causing you to bit on your lip to suppress a laugh.

A nurse by the name of Sharon knelt in front of you, her blonde hair curled in gentle waves over her shoulder and a sweet look in her eye as she gestured for your hands. You set them in her palms, appreciating that she hadn’t bothered to ask you to follow her to an exam room. Steve sat next to you the whole time, his knee touching yours ever so slightly, but enough to keep you grounded. Sam slumped into a chair across from you as the older nurse returned to the desk, grumbling under her breath and sending a glaring look in Sam’s direction.

Sharon reached over for a cart on Steve’s left and he helped her swing it around. From the bottom drawer she pulled out a series of white clothes and a bottle filled with a clear liquid. She sprayed some onto the wipes and offered you an encouraging smile.

“This may be a little cold but it’ll get the dried blood off your skin,” she said softly, watching you for recognition before she began to run the cloth along your arms. You flinched at first, surprised by the coolness of the damp wipe, but you settled quickly. Sharon was as gentle as she could be, pressing a little harder when a patch of dried blood didn’t want to wipe away on its own. It stuck in the hair of your arms and cracks in your knuckles.

Once she was finished, she threw the red stained rags into the disposal bin on the side of the cart. Then she pulled out a new set of bandages and began wrapping the burns on your wrist without another word. There was some kind of cooling gel underneath that made the ache in your wrists a little less noticeable. She affixed the clips on the ends of the bandage, securing them with just enough pressure to protect it while giving it room to breathe.

Then, she took a seat next to you, dragging the cart closer as she pulled out a cotton swab and dipped it into the clear bottle she had used on your arms.

“This may sting,” she warned, holding it up against your face. You nodded and you felt Steve’s hand sitting over yours. You turn your palm and let him grab your hand. You squeezed it and Sharon pressed it to the cut. It left a burning sensation behind as she cleaned the wound and you clenched your jaw. She muttered an apology under her breath as she continued to work. It was over quicker than you anticipated. Steve released your hand.

“Good news is it won’t need stitches,” Sharon smiled at you, disposing of the swab. “I’m just going to put some surgical glue on and you’ll be all set.”

The glue didn’t sting the way the clear liquid had and it was over before you had time to wince at the tingling sensation of it. When she was finished, she set the materials back on the cart and set her eyes on Sam.

“You know you’re still in trouble for running out on us,” she smirked, folding her arms over her chest. Despite her light pink scrubs and the teddy bear sticker adhered to her ID badge, she had an intimidating aurora you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of, even if it was in jest. Sam sunk further into his chair, grimacing.

“Sorry about that,” Sam apologized weakly, eyeing Steve for support who only shrugged and looked away.

“I suppose if your stitches held together in your escape, you should be fine,” Sharon conceded, though there was a laugh on the end of her words. She set a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “I know you’re waiting on news about the officers down in surgery. I’ll do my best to get an update for you.”

You exhaled, a moment of relief as you nodded. “Thank you.”

She smiled sweetly before she turned towards Sam with a teasing glare and jogged down the hall and through the double doors.

“You’ve gotta stop pissing off the nurses, Sam,” Steve laughed.

Sam shook his head, grumbling under his breath, “they started it.”

***

Sharon came back twenty minutes later. Nat was out of the OR and in the ICU until further notice, and no—you couldn’t see her just yet. Peter was still in surgery and they had successfully removed the metal chunk in his leg, though they ran into a few close calls. Plastics had taken the lead to start removing the burned skin while General closed up his leg. No end in sight for now.

Dr. Palmer was currently working on Bucky down in OR 7. Everything was going smoothly so far, but they were spending more time than expected on the stab wound in his stomach due to the serrated edges of the knife having ripped his skin and internal organs to shreds. It was apparently a miracle he survived long enough to get into the OR in the first place. You winced as Sharon told you so and she immediately bit down on her lip, having realized the way it came out. She went on to inform you that the cuts along Bucky’s left shoulder were proving difficult to stitch up. The scars it would leave behind would be unavoidable.

You nodded as she spoke, trying to breathe through the anxiety tingling in your skin.

An hour later, you met Steve’s wife, Peggy. She had come storming through the elevator doors, heels clicking on the tile flooring as she rushed to Steve. A million questions a minute rambling from behind bright red lipstick and a thick English accent, she started to direct her attention to the nurses when Steve couldn’t get the answers out fast enough. The older nurse who had become rivals with Sam was happy to update her.

After several minutes, Peggy fell down in the chair next to Sam with a huff. She blew a dark brunette curl from falling into her face. Then, her eyes fell on you and a smile so wide lit up her features. She quickly moved to the chair beside you, grinning ear to ear.

She told you how much she had been hearing about you from Steve – your name redacted until now to preserve your identity, of course – and from Bucky as well in their weekly Sunday night dinners. You smiled at that, thinking of Bucky spending his Sunday evenings with a married couple, sharing a meal, probably watching a movie and having a decent liquor for once. It was the kind of normalcy you didn’t have growing up.

“I’m so happy he found you,” Peggy concluded after a long ramble about Bucky’s apparently uneventful romantic history outside of the _‘ghastly’_ woman named Dolores who had broken his heart a few years prior.

“Not sure he’d say that right about now,” you sighed, eyes glancing down towards the double doors. “Meeting me brought him a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe he needed a little more excitement in his life,” Peggy shrugged, her hand snaking into yours. Soft skin brushing gently over the dried cracks on the back of your hand. Red nail polish against paled skin.

“He lost a lot of blood. You didn’t see him, Peggy. He might not make it,” you whispered, finding yourself slumping down to lean against her shoulder. Peggy nodded, bringing your intertwined hand into her lap.

“He’s stronger than he looks… and he looks pretty strong,” she reminded you softly, an airy laugh in her voice. “He’s got something to fight for out here. If I know anything about that man, it’s that he’s about as stubborn as his best friend and he won’t let you go for anything.”

***

Sharon came by twice more with updates and you had lost track of time. The sun had risen enough to fill the waiting area with a glow of light through the windows. Sam was hiding from it beneath his jacket draped over his face as he curled up against the wall. These chairs didn’t allow for comfortable sleep, but it seemed like he was doing just fine. His light snoring was evident of that, at least.

Peggy and Steve were talking quietly with one another; everything from what was on the grocery list for the week to when they’ll find time to visit England to see her parents. Peggy led the conversations, asking the questions. She must have known that Steve needed a sense of normalcy. Even a police captain had best friends he was terrified of losing. It was nice to know he had someone looking out for him. This petite, brass, charming Englishwoman took care of him as if he weren’t twice anyone’s size and standing a foot above the rest.

The soft buzz of the tv filled the otherwise tensely silent room. A blonde news anchor dressed in a sharp red blazer sat behind a desk with several sheets of paper ahead of her, a pen twirling in her right hand. To her left was an image of the intersection where the crossfire took place, followed by Rumlow and Ward’s mugshots. Then, the screen changed to a video of Sam’s impala flipped on its roof, flames bursting from the engine. It appeared like it was shot on a cell phone from the vertical alignment and the blurred shakiness of whoever was recording it. The screen rushed between glimpses of Sam dragging Peter out from inside the burning car to Nat firing shots at the Hydra men. It switched to a scene of Bucky, Nat, and Sam slowly lowering themselves to the ground as you were held hostage, gun pressed to your temple.

The anchor came back on screen, a solemn look on her face as the small image on her left showed the front view of the hospital. You gritted your teeth and turned away.

After the news had transitioned into a cooking show and then into a morning talk show you’d never heard of, a few officers you hadn’t seen around the station had begun to straggle into the waiting room.

Detective Clint Barton, the one you had learned from Sam had arrested Rumlow and Ward, was currently sitting in the corner of the room with his feet kicked up, watching the mid-afternoon talk show on the small, grainy tv screen bolted to the wall. He was on his second bad of chips from the vending machine.

Dr. Bruce Banner, the one-four’s forensic psychologist, was pacing back and forth by the windows. His messy curls bouncing with each step. Peggy had whispered to you that he and Natasha had a bit of a history, which surprised you for only a moment before you remembered that beneath her hardened exterior was one of the kindest, warmest people you knew.

Peter’s Aunt May was sitting by herself, hands in her face, for the last hour. She brushed off anyone that came near, claiming she _just_ _knew_ he’d get himself into this mess and she didn’t want comfort from those who got him there.

You’d learned Bucky’s sister, Rebecca, was out of state for college and his mother had broken down completely on the porch of her house when the officers arrived to inform her of his condition. She couldn’t leave her home in that state, so Steve had them track down a cousin of hers to stay with her until they had more news.

You’d met Thor and Loki, an odd pair who claimed to be brothers despite their polar opposite appearance and general demeanor in which they carried themselves. They called themselves private investigators but Sam grumbled something about them being ‘amateur Nancy Drews’ under his breath.

Even Tony Stark was standing over in the corner, talking quietly into his cellphone.

Then, a woman who demanded the attention of the entire room when she walked through the elevator doors took a seat next to you. She gave you a knowing smile before settling in. You’d later learn her name was Carol Danvers. She was a Sergeant at the one-four and despite her small frame, much like Natasha, she carried the energy of a someone twice her size. She nudged your shoulder lightly, grabbing your attention.

“Barton handed Rumlow and Ward over to me for processing,” she started, a smirk upon her lips. “Just thought you’d like to know that I roughed them up a bit in the interrogation room. Those Hydra scum will turn on one another real quick if they figure they can get one in for themselves. Idiots. Can’t believe they thought we’d actually cut them a deal.”

You laugh slightly behind pressed lips, lifting your head from Peggy’s shoulder. There was a strain in your muscle in the movement and you reached up to massage it.

“So, they’re secure where they are?” you asked apprehensively, stealing a glance back at Steve, who nodded slightly for you, indicating Carol was safe. “One of their moles can’t just let them out while we’re here?”

Carol smiled, shaking her head. “I locked up their cells myself and took all the spares with me. Plus, I’ve got a guy standing guard. Pietro Maximoff. He may be a rookie, but nothing gets past that kid. Too quick.”

You nodded, feeling slightly relieved and a bit satisfied to know Rumlow and Ward had been on the end of Carol’s bad side. She started to tell you stories from the one-four, ones where Bucky and Steve had gotten in serious heat with the previous captain, that made you smile despite the exhaustion. Your eyes glanced down at the double doors a little less often now that she was around.

***

A light tap on your shoulder woke you carefully. You lift your head to find you had fallen asleep on Peggy’s lap. Her hands were running softly through your hair and she offered you a smile as she gestured across the room. You lift your head from her thigh, combing self-consciously through your hair with your fingers as your eyes narrowed on a woman emerging through the double doors at the end of the hall.

Light teal scrubs and auburn hair drawn back away from her face in a ponytail. She discarded her plastic gloves at the edge of the door and you tried to ignore the blood that covered the blue material. She pushed through the doors, eyes scanning the room until she landed on Steve.

“Captain Rogers. You’re Detective Barnes’ emergency contact, is that right?” she asked, weaving through the dozens of officers and members of the one-four who had come to sit in wait for their colleagues.

Steve stood quickly, wiping his hands on his slacks. “Dr. Palmer?”

She nodded. “Detective Barnes lost quite a lot of blood and it was a challenge to piece together his internal wiring from the intrusive trauma, but we managed. He’ll be in the ICU for a while, but he’s tough. I expect he’ll make a full recovery.”

Peggy squeezed your hand and you nearly burst into tears.

“He’ll have significant scarring,” Dr. Palmer went on to add. “There wasn’t much we could do for that I’m afraid.”

“When can we see him?” Steve asked after considering what she said.

Dr. Palmer looked around the room. “While I’m sure he appreciates the turnout, I’m afraid we can only allow immediate family right now. He’s not stable enough for much else.”

Your heart dropped. Steve glanced down at you, unsure of what to say.

“We _are_ his family,” Steve pressed, shaking his head, at a loss. Dr. Palmer pressed her lips together into a thin line. The regret was evident on her face.

“Ms. Barnes?”

Your eyes snapped up to find Sharon jogging in from behind the double doors. She smiled softly at you, sending you a wink before she came up to stand next to Dr. Palmer.

“I can take Ms. Barnes back to see her husband, now,” Sharon offered.

“Oh, I didn’t realize Detective Barnes was married. I must have missed that in the chart,” Dr. Palmer said, nodding her head. The knowing look in her eyes made you wonder if she knew exactly what Sharon was doing. She smiled at you then and you knew she did. 

“He’s still under the anesthesia but he should wake soon,” Dr. Palmer said, directly to you now. “I’ll let Sharon walk you back. Once he’s stable enough, I’ll be sure to let your crew know. We’ll have to sort out a shift system. Don’t want to overwhelm the poor man.”

Steve smiled at that, sitting back into the chair as Peggy ushered you to your feet. She urged you on, waving at you to follow Sharon, but your legs felt like jelly. You clenched your jaw, staring down at the double doors.

Sharon offered you her arm for support and you took it graciously. She led you through the mass of officers and they backed slowly to the sides, allowing a passage through. Once the double doors closed behind you, you glanced over your shoulder to see Steve giving you a slight nod, half of an encouraging smile lifting his cheeks. You exhaled and continued on.

“Now, I want to prepare you,” Sharon began and you could already feel your stomach dropping. “The bruising is darker and more spread out than when he came in, so don’t be alarmed. He’ll have some bandaging on his right hand, his left shoulder, and around his waist. Someone will be by to change those once every few hours. We’ve already removed the respiratory tube from surgery, so don’t worry about having to see that, alright?”

You nodded, trying to take in her words the best you could. Then, she pulled you to a stop outside room 1189. Bucky’s name was scribbled in messy handwriting on the whiteboard underneath. Someone had thought to write “NYPD” just below his name. Somehow, it brought you comfort.

“I’ll work on getting someone in to see Detective Romanoff as well,” Sharon added. “She’ll be waking soon and our staff hates this ‘family only’ rule just as much as you all do.”

She smiled at you, nudging your shoulder. A semblance of a smile pulled at your lips, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. She reached forward and turned the knob to Bucky’s room, stepping aside to give you the space you needed and disappearing back down the hall.

Slowly, you stepped inside the room. It was brighter than you imagined, light seeping in from the massive windows giving view to the towers across the street. White walls, beige tile floors, the faint smell of fresh sheets and sterilized surfaces. The soft beeping of a machine with a red line ticking up and down and it ran across the screen. Wires connecting down from the monitor to the bed where Bucky laid.

Yours hands reached up to cover your mouth as you finally took him in. Stumbling over to the chair by his bedside, you collapsed into it, shaking hands reaching to grab his. A thick plastic clasp sat over his pointer finger, wires connecting it to the monitor above you. You brought his hand to your lips and kissed his still broken knuckles.

Bandages covered his left shoulder, one wrapped around his stomach, another encasing his hand furthest from you. Broken pieces tied together with gauze and thread.

Your cheeks were wet with tears as you glanced over at his face. His lip was busted down the middle. Blue and purple covered more of his skin than not. Swollen eyelid and cheekbone, angry blue veins protruding to the surface. You tried to imagine he was only asleep, that is wasn’t just the anesthesia keeping him sedated, but you knew better than this. You’d seen the peaceful way he lied on his bed in the early hours of the morning, the almost boyish look in his face as he scrunched his nose in his sleep, the endearing mess of bedhead he’d wake up to. It wasn’t the same.

Exhausted, you leaned forward until your forehead rested against the bed. It was so soft, almost like a pillow and you could feel yourself giving into it. You wrapped your arms under your head, hunching over the bed as you dragged the chair closer with a hook of your foot. Gripped Bucky’s hand in yours, you let yourself find rest.

What felt like only seconds later, but had likely been almost an hour, you hummed contently as a tender pressure ran over your scalp, running through your hair, and lulling you back to sleep. You nuzzled in closer, shiftily slight to lean into the feeling. As raspy chuckle fell on your ears and you sprang up, eyes wide only, heart pounding, only to be met with the most beautiful shades of blue you’d ever seen.

You froze completely, just staring at him, petrified that if you even blinked, he’d disappear. Having noticed the fear etched in your features, he offered you a sad smile. You could practically feel him scanning you for further injury, eyes falling over the cut on your cheek for a moment too long. He licked at his lips when he met your eyes again.

“Hiya, doll,” he exhaled, his voice coming out in only a whisper but certainly the loveliest sound you’d ever heard. He started to cough abruptly and you lunged for the water at his bedside, pouring a glass for him and holding it up to his lips. He took a small sip, nodded that he was finished, and you pulled it away.

He sighed, glancing around the room. “I hope us being here means Hydra didn’t win this round.”

“Rumlow and Ward were arrested when they showed up at the bar,” you confirmed quickly and his eyes narrowed quizzically. You continued, “Steve has the chip from my necklace, too.”

Bucky shook his head, leaning back against the pillow. “It’s too easy.”

A humorless laugh escaped you. “That’s what I said. Sam thinks I should work on accepting good things when they come.”

“Yeah, well, Sam’s too optimistic for his own good,” Bucky grumbled, though he raised a genuine smile for you despite the crack in his lips. It made your heart flutter. He sighed, trying to adjust himself on the bed but winced at the effort. You rushed forward to help him, though you found your hands hovering over him, almost afraid to touch him. If he noticed your hesitancy, he didn’t say anything.

Once he settled, he let out a heavy exhale. His eyes fell on you as you pulled his hand back to your lap, drawing patterns in his palm. Several moments of comfortable silence passed, save for your soft humming. He watched you carefully, almost like he was studying you, trying to memorize you, before he spoke again.

“Are you okay, doll?” Bucky asked cautiously and you could practically hear the guilt beginning to build in his voice.

“We’re here and they’re not,” you shrugged, pulling to press a kiss to the back of his hand. You set your intertwined hands into your lap and slowly met his eye. “That’s all that matters right now.”

He didn’t seem convinced, his gaze caught on the scar running over your cheekbone. “Y/n, I’m so–”

“Don’t do this again, please,” you sighed. When his eyes fell away from you, you reached forward to brush his hair from his eyes, tracing your fingers carefully along the scruff of his beard. He leaned into it. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’ll deal with the trauma later, alright?”

Bucky chuckled softly at that though when a silence took over again, it took a minute before he looked up at you nervously. “So, there’s a later, huh? Now that this is over?”

The way he asked you, trying to cover his fretfulness through the banter in his voice, made your heart ache. He wasn’t asking to tease you. He was sincere in his uncertainty and that, above all else, hurt more than anything.

“Did you think I’d leave once Hydra was no longer a threat to my life?” you asked, watching the way his eyes flickered down to your intertwined hands, then to the door.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Bucky shrugged shyly. “Adrenaline can be a hell of a drug. Not to mention, you’re pretty hard to read, sweetheart.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me,” you replied quickly, kissing his hand. You brushed his knuckles over your cheek and his opened his palm to rest against the side of your face. You held it there, leaning into him as his thumb traced delicately under the angry red scar.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bucky,” you reminded him, more serious this time as you said it. You needed him to know, to understand that there wasn’t a single thing on this Earth that could take you from him now. Bucky nodded, a smile curving at the ends of his lips as he sighed, seemingly content to just watch you.

You kissed the inside of his palm, drawing his hand from your face and pulling it to sit in your lap again. You flashed him a smirk and he raised an eyebrow playfully.

“I suppose you should get used to your shitty bourbon, Barnes.”

He let out a laugh– a genuine, boisterous laugh– and the sound alone made your heart swell. You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to that. You hoped you never did.

***

With the help of Sharon, Bucky’s room had become a revolving door of visitors. You kept his hand woven in your own as you sat next to his bed side. He had requested to see Clint and Carol first, after you informed him that they were the last ones to have contact with Rumlow and Ward since the arrest. He grilled them for almost an hour before he finally took a breath and relaxed, accepting that maybe they’d finally won a round against Hydra for once.

Clint, you found, was somehow more of a sarcastic shit than Sam was, and you grew a liking to him quickly. Carol took Bucky’s questions in stride, replying in quick, short responses, just enough to get to the point. She barely even batted an eye.

Then came a steady stream of the officers you’d hadn’t met before. Men and women in blue uniform, some from the one-four, others from different precincts over the city. It seemed the NYPD showed up for one of its own regardless of district. They only stayed to wish him well or bring by flowers to sit on the windowsill. Tight lipped smiles and nervous glances in your direction and then they were out the door.

Almost two hours later when Steve and Peggy finally walked through the door, hand in hand, you slumped back against the side of Bucky’s bed in relief. Peggy scurried over quickly to give a light hug to Bucky and an aired kiss to his cheek before she pulled up a chair next to you. Steve hung behind in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he looked Bucky over. He shook his head, pursing his lips into a frown.

“You gotta learn to stay out of trouble, punk,” Steve chuckled under his breath.

“Only if you do, jerk.” Bucky smirked, eyes on his oldest friend until he walked the room to reach out to shake his hand. Steve was cautious as he gripped Bucky’s hand and Bucky must have noticed it because with one hard yank, he pulled Steve down into a hug. A wince passed over his face as he patted Steve’s back, likely from the heavy weight of the captain, but he didn’t complain. Steve laughed, pulling himself up and moving to lean against the wall.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Steve teased, the relief on his face as evident as you felt.

“Is someone making fun of Barnes? I want in,” Sam’s voice called from a few paces beyond the door, but he wasn’t the next face you saw come through the frame. 

“You’re all insufferable. Just so you know,” Nat rolled her eyes, leaning on the armrest of the wheelchair Sam was pushing. Her leg was propped up, held at a ninety-degree angle, with heavy bandages and splints holding it in place. Other than that, you never would have known she had just come out of surgery; gorgeous without even an ounce of makeup and soft fiery hair that never seemed out of place.

She winked at you as Sam locked the wheels on her chair next to Peggy. You reached over her and gripped her hand. You wanted to tell her you were sorry she ended up in the crosshairs of a Hydra stand off for you and that you were thankful she was alive. You wanted her to know that even when this was over, you still wanted to be friends. You hoped she felt the same way. Natasha had the uncanny ability to read minds with a single look. She nodded, a knowing smile on her lips, understanding perfectly.

“Gang’s all here,” Bucky chuckled to himself, squeezing your hand. A silence fell over the room and you lowered your head. You could feel Bucky eyeing the room and no one dared to speak. “What?”

“Parker’s still in surgery,” Sam finally said. Bucky’s lips parted in shock. “He got the worst of the explosion. Burned pretty bad and his leg got impaled with a piece of the car door. He’s got a long road ahead of him, but I hear the doc’s optimistic about his recovery.”

Bucky nodded and you could feel his heartrate picking up beneath his pulse point. “He’s just a kid. We never should have let him get involved with this.”

“Parker is a fully trained officer,” Steve said, serious enough tone in his voice to remind you that he was still the captain of this precinct. “He looks young and he’s got the energy of someone half his age, but he’s qualified and capable of doing his job; a job he volunteered for, by the way. You didn’t force him into this. He knew exactly what he was signing up for.”

Steve reached out to put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder but withdrew quickly when his fingers brushed over the series of bandages. Steve swallowed, folding his arms over his chest. Bucky let out a heavy sigh, pressing his lips to a thin line. He stole a glance at you, the tension falling from his face. He pulled your hand to his lips and kissed it.

***

As the hours passed by and the sun began to fall over the city line, the small, white hospital room echoed the sounds of laughter down the hallways and hushed snickering under breaths when the older nurse from the front desk hushed the room. No one showed any signs of leaving, despite the visiting hours closing in the next hour.

Sam had taken a seat at the end of Bucky’s bed, rolling his eyes when Bucky tried to swat him away and saying something like _‘I got shot for you, move the hell over’._ Nat was sitting comfortably in her wheelchair, resting one foot on the edge of the bed as she listened intently to Sam and Bucky’s constant bickering, a sly comment said under her breath every once in a while that always got you laughing before anyone knew what was happening. Steve had taken a seat on the windowsill, his feet still touching the ground and you caught him watching Peggy with the kind of gentle bewonder you often saw in Bucky’s eyes.

“Sam, that’s the third time I’ve heard your stomach growl,” Nat observed in a flat toned comment, raising in eyebrow when his hand began to pat at his stomach. 

“Damn, I don’t even remember the last time I ate,” Sam said and the grumble of his stomach rang out again.

“I’ll go get some stuff from the vending machine,” you offered, rising quickly from your chair. Bucky squeezed your hand as you tried to pull away. You glanced back at him and the apprehension on his features was enough to tug at your heart.

“Let Sam go,” Bucky urged and Sam narrowed his eyes as if staring darts.

“Sam’s got a stab wound in his forearm and a bullet in his shoulder,” you teased light-heatedly.

“Ok, what about Steve?”

“Sure, I can go,” Steve agreed, jumping off from the window ledge.

“Guys, stop,” you laughed. “I can handle it myself. Just relax. I’ll be back in five.”

You sent Steve a playful glare when he didn’t back down and he eventually sat back on the ledge. Bucky sighed and you could see the concern behind his eyes. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling him instantly relax against you as your hand ran gently over the back of the short hairs on the nape of his neck.

“Five minutes,” you reminded him again. He nodded slowly, though it looked like the very idea of being away from you for even a moment was agonizing. 

You squeezed your way past Peggy’s chair and around Nat’s leg propped up the bed. As you turned down the hall, you could still hear Sam’s boisterous laughter until you passed through the double doors.

The older nurse was standing at the front desk, the corded phone sitting between her ear and shoulder as she scribbled on a notebook, nodding her head and rolling her eyes with each _‘uh-huh.’_

As you approached the vending machine in the far corner of the room, she slammed the phone on the receiver and quickly stormed to the back room. You chuckled under your breath, shaking you head. You pulled a few tens from your pocket and eyed up your choices for dinner. Doritos, cheese crackers, potato chips, trail mix, chocolate bars, Cheetos. Sounded good enough to you.

“Not the most nutritious of meals, don’t you think?” a man’s voice said from behind, startling you enough to whip around and clutch at your heart, hand searching instinctively for the necklace you no longer wore. When you saw a black suit-jacket affixed with gold buttons and a shiny NYPD badge with a series of colorful badges pinned on his left breast pocket, you began to relax.

“You scared me,” you exhaled, laughing to yourself.

“My apologies ma’am,” he said, offering you a pleasant smile as he removed his rounded glassed, wiping them on the edge of his jacket before he set them against the bridge of his nose. His sandy blonde hair swept over to the left in short wisps. Over his shoulder an officer you didn’t recognized emerged from the elevators.

“Commissioner Pierce,” the officer greeted, removing his cap in a nod before moving to stand by the double doors. Something about the way he stood guard, his back to the doors, facing you, made you feel uneasy. If he was guarding the commissioner, shouldn’t he be facing potential entry points?

The man in the suit jacket, Commissioner Pierce, pressed out a smile at you as you turned back to the vending machine. Something was wrong. You could feel it in your bones. He cleared his throat behind you and you clenched your jaw, turning to face him again.

“Actually, my dear,” he began and the tone in his voice made you shiver, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking a few moments to speak with me about the last twenty-four hours. I’ve been made aware that you haven’t given a statement yet and I’d like to make sure we have it on the books before your memory becomes… unreliable.”

“That’s a little below a commissioner’s pay grade, isn’t it?” you asked slowly, careful to keep your voice light as not to cause suspicion. You eyed the officer standing at the double doors. His hand held steady on the firearm attached to his hip.

Pierce chuckled to himself, head bowing for a moment before he met your eye again. “I take initiative on the ground every once in a while. Keeps me humble. Especially in cases such as yours. With one of our own feeding information to Hydra, we must stay vigilant. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course,” you forced out a smile, clenching you jaw to hide the influx in your heart rate. You turned back to the machine, watching Pierce’s reflection in the glass. “I’ll be sure to let one of the officers know as soon as I bring back some food. They’re expecting me back any minute.”

As you slid the first bill into the machine, you felt a sharp, solid pressure jab into your lower back. Eyes closed as you exhaled; some kind of twisted acceptance washing over you. Pierce leaned in close enough to feel his breath on your ear.

“I tried to make this easy for you, Y/n,” he tsked, pushing the barrel of the gun hard enough into your side to elicit a wince. You took a deep breath, ready to scream and damn the consequences when Pierce clamped a hand over your mouth. “If you make a single sound, I’ll have of the nurses on my payroll shoot up your precious detective with Fentanyl.”

You froze, breath caught in your throat. From behind the desk, a nurse you didn’t recognize was pulling a syringe from the drawer. She eyed you with a wicked kind of smirk before she walked over to the double doors, standing next to the officer as if on guard, awaiting orders. Pierce slowly lowered his hand.

“Good girl,” he praised against your ear and you recoiled away from his touch. He chuckled under his breath at your reaction, clearly amused. He then nodded for the officer at the door to follow as he put a hand on your shoulder, gripping hard enough to draw bruising. He led you towards the elevator doors where the officer had already tapped the now illuminated arrow pointing to the floor. 

You glanced down the window through the double doors after the nurse retreated back to her station, twirling the syringe in her hand. The hall beyond the doors was entirely empty. Steve was the only armed officer without a major injury and there was no way you’d be able to call for him before Pierce could get a fatal bullet in you and that nurse could dose Bucky amongst the chaos.

This was it.

You should have known better than to trust things would end so easily for you. Your life had never bene easy so why would this? The moment it crossed your mind you might actually have a happy ending to this nightmare of a chapter in your life, you should have known it was too good to be true. You’d gained too many friends, learned to find a family again amongst the late nights at the bar and 24/7 guard duty. And Bucky —

Bucky was too kind, too loving and sweet and reassuring. He treated you with a gentle kind of sincerity you hadn’t known in years and a constant unbreakable need to keep you safe from harm. You’d let yourself grow to love him in a way you’d never loved another person. In such a short period of time, you’d happily given a piece of your heart away with the assured trust that he’d handle it with care.

You realized suddenly you already said your last goodbye to Bucky, to the makeshift family at the one-four who adopted you so willingly. You’d already poured his last drink, had your last walk through the city in the early hours of the morning, shrugged off his last flirty comment that got your heart racing, and seen his last smile. You’d already kissed him for the last time, already squeezed his hand for the last time, touched him for the last time, told him you –

Well, you’d only told him you loved him once, hadn’t you? It felt like centuries ago. Did he still know? Would he still know once this was over?

You weren’t sure.

You supposed you’d never find out.

The elevator dinged and the metal doors parted. Pierce shoved you inside with the brunt of the gun and you stumbled into the small space. He pressed the button for the ground floor as the officer stood on your other side, hand still on his weapon as if he expected to use it.

A lifetime seemed to pass by as the red LED numbers at the top of the wall counted down. Your focus blurred on the silver doors, studying the ticks and scratches amongst the metal as you tried to avoid your own reflection.

When the doors slid open, Pierce shoved you forward into what looked like the parking garage under the hospital.

“Get her in the car,” Pierce ordered the officer, sliding his gun back into the waist of his suit pants. The officer grabbed a tight hold of your arm, enough to hurt as he yanked you towards him.

There was no use fighting him. You weren’t physically strong enough to overpower him, especially not with a gun in his hand. Pierce gestured toward a black car sitting just a few spaces away. You nearly tripped over a stray rock in the pavement and the officer cursed at you under harsh breaths, raising his hand as if to strike you when –

“Let her go!”

The officer hulled you to his chest, your back slamming roughly against him as the gun pressed to your side. _God, this was familiar, wasn’t it?_

Steve stood by the exit to the stairs, panting heavily as he aimed his weapon at Pierce. Pierce slowly turned around, a laugh on his tongue, almost as if he was expecting this.

“I know who you really work for, Pierce!” Steve shouted his voice echoing through the garage. “I know where your allegiance lies. I’ve seen the file. It’s over! Turn yourself in while you can!”

“Frankly, Rogers, I’m a little surprised it took you this long,” Pierce replied smugly, not even bothering to deny it. Steve’s eye glanced at you, flickering over for only a moment, just long enough to catch your nod, signaling that you were okay, before turned his attention back to Pierce.

“Let Y/n go and maybe we can arrange a deal,” Steve bargained. An angry tension carried in his tone and you wondered if he was sincere in his words. The sharp narrowing of his eyes suggested otherwise.

“I don’t want your deal, Rogers,” Pierce spat, swatting his hand in the air at Steve. “You know nothing of Hydra if you think we care for anything but the bigger picture. I am willing to sacrifice my life for the cause. Are _you?”_ He glanced over towards you, a smirk on his face as he turned back to Steve. “Is _she?”_

“Ward and Rumlow turned on each other pretty easy.”

“They were henchmen at best,” Pierce dismissed, rolling his eyes. He was pacing freely, walking casually as if he wasn’t in the middle of a hostage situation. 

“You have nothing!” Steve shouted. “The Hydra informant list was sent to the station hours ago. It’s over, Pierce. You have no reason to take her.”

“There’s still revenge, isn’t there?” Pierce shrugged, whipping out his gun in one smooth movement and aiming it in your direction. There wasn’t enough time to close your eyes before a loud ringing echoed through the garage, but it wasn’t any of the weapons’ discharge.

You looked towards the source of the noise to find the stairwell door slammed against the adjacent wall and a fuming Bucky Barnes racing through the frame, clad only in the light grey sweatpants Peggy had brought for him, bare feet, and bandages covering most of his torso. Sam rushed in behind him.

Bucky was panting heavily as he exchanged a look with Steve who only shot him a warning glare in return. He faltered slightly in his stance and Sam quickly ushered himself under Bucky’s good arm, keeping him steady.

“Great,” Pierce mumbled. “Now that everyone’s here…”

Pierce continued talking but you could hear much of it. It was clear none of the three men standing just fifty feet away from you were either as they talked amongst themselves quickly, eyeing one another up between glances back to Pierce. Pierce was pacing, monologuing about the ‘glory of Hydra’ when you notice Bucky gesturing for Steve’s gun. Steve shook his head, retuning his gaze to Pierce, the barrel of his gun swaying back and forth as the man paced.

Bucky gritted his teeth, his eyes falling on you. There was a determination behind them you recognized from the intersection the last time a Hydra agent held a gun to you, though you could tell with a single glance that he wasn’t getting on his knees. Not again.

He held your eye, mouthing something to you that looked a little like _‘it’s gonna be okay.’_ You scanned over at Pierce who was still managing to talk without any prompting. The officer holding you seemed to be getting a little bored with his commissioner’s speech because his grip slowly started to loosen.

Then, all at once, Bucky snaked his good hand around Sam’s waist and pulled the gun from the holster, barrel aimed directly at you. Pierce froze, shouting something you couldn’t quite understand as a deafening shot rang out in your ears. You yelped and a wet substance splattered over the side of your face, soaking into your hair. The officer fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Another shot echoed through the garage and Pierce let out a shriek, his gun falling from his hand as he gripped at the now bloody surface of his palm. You looked over to Steve, who was holstering his weapon, pleased with his aim.

Bucky was sprinting towards you; Sam close behind. Their footsteps were muffled by the deafening ringing in your ears. You glanced down at the officer, his eyes wide, unstaring, as a bullet sat wedged between his eyes. Without thinking much of it, you bent down, and picked up the handgun that he had held against you. It was warm to the touch.

“Y/n,” Bucky panted, reaching quickly to gather you in his arms when you abruptly snapped your attention to Pierce, aiming the gun at his chest. Pierce held his hands up in surrender, though he kept them clasped together, blood dripping down his forearms from the bullet that had ripped through his palm. 

“Get on your knees,” you growled, a snarl twitching at your upper lip. Pierce’s eyes fell on Bucky, then Steve as he ran up to stand next to you, almost as if he was begging them for interference. It riled up a kind of anger in you too difficult to control.

“Don’t look at them! Look at me!”

Pierce’s gaze snapped back to you in an instant.

“Y/n,” Bucky’s voice called softly behind you. “Doll, please, give me the gun. You don’t wanna do this.”

“No. I do,” you nodded your head frantically, tears welling in your eyes. “He’s behind all of this! _He_ gave the order for Charlie’s death _. He_ sicked Rumlow on us. _He’s_ the reason Sam and Nat were shot and you were tortured for information I didn’t even know existed! Peter’s fighting for his life because of this asshole! He deserves to die!”

Pierce winced as you stepped closer. The sharp click of the safety as it unlocked was thunderous.

“I know,” Bucky admitted, a hesitancy behind his voice. “You’re right, but please, not by your hand. It’s not something you come back from. Doll, I’m begging you. Don’t let him take anything else from you.”

You clenched at your jaw, willing yourself to not cry as you stared down this man. He wasn’t as powerful as he made himself to be when he was staring down the end of a gun. He was a weak, pathetic, feeble man and he was at your mercy alone. You met his eye, providing nothing for him but the cool numbness he had forced onto you and then, you fired.

Two shots.

One at each knee cap.

Pierce cried out, dropping to the ground and rolling onto his side. The garage echoed with his pained shouts, but you couldn’t hear much of it beyond the ringing in your ears from the discharge of the gun. You stepped backwards, bumping into Bucky’s chest.

His hands brushed over your arms, holding you steady. When you didn’t flinch at the touch, he skimmed his hand down to yours and gingerly pulled the gun from your hand, passing it off to Sam. You let it go willingly. Steve had meanwhile rushed forward and yanked Pierce’s hands behind his back, cuffing him, before he pulled out his phone to call for reinforcements.

You could vaguely make out Bucky calling your name softly but you couldn’t seem to bring your focus away from Pierce. This man, this insignificant man, who hadn’t even existed in your life less than twenty minutes ago had spent the last few months upending your entire world. From behind the shadows, he stood, watching, waiting, for the prime opportunity.

Dark red pooled around the concrete around him and he was complaining to Steve that he needed a doctor. Steve grunted, rolling his eyes, and told him something you can only assume was ‘ _you’ll live._ ’

“Sweetheart,” Bucky’s voiced ached, his hand tracing over the line of your jaw. “Please, I need you to look at me.”

You blinked a few times in a row. When did he move in front of you? He was watching you with those careful blue eyes of his, drawing and scanning over every ounce of your face in hopes to find some sort of sign that you were in there somewhere. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. You looked down, focus caught on the red stain growing upon the thick bandage wrapped at his waist.

“You tore your stitches,” you commented meekly, eyes finally reaching up to his. A sigh of relief pushed up the corners of Bucky’s lips and he nodded, glancing at the stain himself.

“Wasn’t gonna let some Hydra asshole take my girl again,” Bucky shrugged, his thumb brushing under the scar on your cheek. You leaned subconsciously into the touch and he smiled sweetly at you. “The second Steve took off runnin’, you should have seen the trail of nurses behind me after I ripped out my heart monitor and the IV drip. It’s a good thing my legs still work, huh?”

“’Good thing’, _my ass_ ,” Sam grumbled behind him, shaking his head as he holstered the weapon Bucky had confiscated in the chaos.

You chuckled under your breath as Bucky shot Sam a glare over his shoulder. You tiled your face slightly, just enough to kiss the inside of his palm. He turned back to you upon the feeling.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” you asked carefully, glancing over at Pierce for a moment before returning to Bucky. He nodded, pulling you into his arms. The gentle touch of his lips pressed against your forehead as you wrapped your arms tight around his waist. He held onto you like you were his only lifeline.

“Yeah, doll,” he sighed, his breath warm over the crown of your head. “It’s over.”

He didn’t let go of you even as the siren’s wailed throughout the garage and the blue and red lighting illuminated the dingy underground lot. You stole a glance over at Pierce, ear pressed to Bucky’s chest and listening intently to the sound of his heart beat to keep you grounded, as Steve ushered him into the back of the police car. The door slammed behind him and a wave of relief washed over you.

Once Steve jumped in the driver’s seat to escort Pierce and the line of four other cars back to the station, the garage had fallen silent.

“So, now that I have a moment with you alone,” Bucky smirked, pulling back a moment to get a better look at you.

“Oh God, please spare me,” Sam grunted from a few paces behind Bucky’s shoulder and your cheeks flushed red. He was leaning against a car that clearly didn’t belong to him, good arm folded over his chest as he shook his head. “You just tore open that nasty stab wound the good doc spent hours piecing back together. If you drop dead because you bled out in some disgusting parking lot for a kiss, I will lose my damn mind. Need I remind you, I got shot for your sorry ass.”

Bucky was staring at you the whole time Sam spoke, biting on his lip to keep himself from laughing, though the subtle shake in his shoulders was enough to alert Sam.

“Fine!” Sam snorted, “You got five minutes before I sent the brigade after you. It better be one hell of a kiss, Barnes!”

Sam’s heavy footsteps echoed in the garage as he made his way to the elevator. You were watching him wait rather impatiently for the doors to open when you felt Bucky’s fingers under your jaw drawing your attention back to him. He set his both his hands against your cheeks and you could feel the soft bandage wrapped around his palm where the knife had pierced through. He exhaled, big blue eyes staring down at you as his lips curved ever so slightly.

“It will be.”


	11. Epilogue

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

“Babe, wrap it up! We’re gonna be late,” Bucky reminded you for the third time in as many minutes. You shot him a playful glare from the other end of the bar as you continued to wipe down the counter. Bucky was standing behind the bar, helping himself to a half refill of the shitty bottom shelf bourbon he still claimed to despise. The bottle now had the letters ‘JBB’ marked in sharpie across the label in his messy handwriting.

“Why don’t you stop drinking and help me then!” you laughed, shaking your head as Bucky looked over at you from the top of the glass raised to his curved lips. He shot back the amber liquid and set the glass into the sink with a gratified _ahhh_.

Bucky, grinning wildly, happily skipped his way down the length of the bar towards you and took a few of the empty glassed from the tray. He dunked them into the soapy water and began to wash. 

You stole a quick glance over at him, not enough to give him the satisfaction, but enough to remind yourself just how handsome he was when he smiled like that, when he teased you and helped you behind the bar, when he had that carefree look in his eyes he had been missing during your darkest days.

Across the room, only Brenda and Big Al remained. You had told the crew that you were closing up shop early for a prior engagement and it didn’t cause as much of a fuss as you anticipated. Most of them grumbled at you as they walked out, but no one flat out rejected it. Perhaps they had gotten used to this sort of thing after you closed down the bar suddenly for nearly two months.

It had taken another two months just to get the bar back in working order after Bucky was discharged from the hospital. You insisted on staying with him while he recovered; mostly to help him cook and care for himself since he could barely raise his left arm to a ninety-degree angle due to the heavy scarring and torn muscles.

If you were being honest, part of your reasoning was because you were afraid to go back home. Hydra had been disbanded; or at least enough so that they no longer posed a threat to your life individually. There was no reason to believe you wouldn’t be safe in your own home and yet, the very idea of being anywhere Bucky wasn’t sounded like the darkest corners of your worst nightmares. He didn’t seem to mind you staying around.

After weeks of physical therapy and countless arguments over whether he was pushing himself too hard, he started to regain strength in his arm and was able to move about freely without tearing up the stitches on his stomach. Dr. Palmer had nearly woken the entire hospital when she found out Bucky ruined her good work by running down eleven flights of stairs to an armed standoff. Since he began to heal, he was right at your side as you started to put your bar together.

Sam helped replace the windows that had been shattered in the gun fire. Steve was rather good with his hands and had started to sand out the nicks in the wooden counter top and reupholstered the chairs and tables that had the worst damage; though you asked him to leave the smaller scratches and bullet markings for the aesthetic purpose. It was a bar for criminals, wasn’t it? He shot you a funny look at that request.

Nat even came by once she was off crutches. Despite her limp, she had helped restock the broken glasses and bottles of alcohol. Surprisingly enough, Tony Stark made his appearance a few days before reopening, tool kit in hand, and completely rewired the jukebox with a new sound system and replaced the shattered frame. 

That evening, once everyone had gone, Bucky grabbed your hand as you headed towards the door, pulling you in close and danced with you as ‘Unchained Melody’ played softly through the speakers, illuminated only by the glow of the brand new neon sign in the window.

The first night you reopened, half of the one-four was in attendance, much to the confusion of your usual crowd of patrons. It was almost comical how evenly the bar had split itself down the middle; one side filled with cops and the other with the rougher looking sort who typically frequented the bar. By the end of the night and the second group rendition of ‘Piano Man,’ the crowds had blurred into one.

To your right, Bucky was currently humming quietly along to whatever Big Al had thrown on the jukebox and you couldn’t help but watch him for a moment. His hair brushed back away from his eyes, fluffed up and coifed perfectly. The sleeves of his Henley pushed up to his elbows. That sweet kind of smile on his lips as he worked, completely content just being here with you. Bucky raised an eyebrow at you and your cheeks burned, not realizing you had been staring at him.

“Like what you see, doll?” Bucky teased, flashing you that cocky smile you fell in love with. He leaned in closer to you, hands still plunged in the soapy water and waiting for you to meet him half way. You giggled, kissing him chastely on the lips before you returned to your closing chore.

“You know,” Brenda said, voice rough from decades of smoking, as she staggered up to the bar. She set several bills on the counter, eyeing you up. “You’ve become intolerable since you started letting this cop hang around our bar.”

“ _Our_ bar, is it?” you laughed, exchanging an amused glance with Bucky.

“Oh, you know what I mean. This bar wasn’t meant for folks like him and now they’re all over the damn place. Can’t get no rest from these cops.”

“You’re only upset because you’re not the one who gets to kiss me, Brenda,” Bucky smirked.

Brenda narrowed her eyes, staring him down with that hardened look in her features before her eyes sharply flickered to you. She puckered her lips into a frown.

“Kid’s got a point,” Big Al said from behind her.

Brenda didn’t let up on her stare until Al started walking towards the door. “This ain’t over, pretty boy,” she called over her shoulder as she followed Al out into the street.

“I’m counting on it!” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head as he finished washing up the last glass. He set it on clean rag laid on the counter to dry. He reached for another towel to begin to dry when you grabbed his hand. He raised an eyebrow.

“You already said we’re going to be late,” you reminded him, tugging on his hand and pulling him away from the sink. “Let’s just go and let them air dry. I’ll put them away before I open tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say, doll.”

Bucky jogged back to the office to grab your bag and keys. He handed you your purse, interloping your hands as he swung the keys around in his fingers before he locked up the bar behind you and shoved them into his pocket.

You shivered as the cool breeze brushed by you. Bucky’s hand squeezed yours, giving you that smile of his. He started to lead you in the right direction, as you genuinely had no idea where you were going, and you found yourself leaning into his right shoulder, using every excuse and every pedestrian who pushed by you a little too forcefully, to move closer to him. He didn’t seem to mind. He never did.

As you walked in the comfortable silence, you found yourself playing with his hand. Your thumb traced over the light pink, rough scar at the center of his palm before flipping his hand over to do the same with the one on the back. 

He watched you carefully as you did so. It wasn’t anything new to him. You had told him once you found it comforting to run your fingers over his scars; they reminded you that he survived. They didn’t represent failings or weakness like they did to him, but he was working on that.

You brought his hand to your lips and briefly kissed the scar on the back of his hand. You smiled up at him softly and he tugged you close enough to sneak a kiss to your forehead as you continued walking.

It took twenty more minutes of walking and a quick trip on the subway just beyond the busy hustle of downtown and into Queens before Bucky pulled you to a stop in front of a home you didn’t recognize. Brick walls, brown shutters, and potted flowers hanging from the window ledges.

Then, the front door opened and Steve Rogers was ushering you inside, waving his hand to hurry you along. You almost paused out of pure confusion because Steve and Peggy lived in a brownstone in Brooklyn, certainly not in Queens, when Bucky started dragging you up the steps with the same kind of hurry.

“What are you two-“

You walked inside to find the entirety of the one-four gathered in the open living room and kitchen area of the small home. Sam was standing over by a long folding table filled with chips, dips, and cheeses, talking with Clint in hushed tones about something you were sure was way less serious than their body language suggested. Peggy and Natasha were sitting on the couch, laughing with one another as Peggy pointed over at Steve. Carol was sitting over on the floor by herself, petting a cat rather contently as she ate from a plate of chips. Tony was busy carrying trays around in the kitchen, helping out a woman you recognized from the hospital; Peter’s Aunt May. It was then you noticed the ‘WELCOME BACK’ sign draped across the archway into the kitchen in big golden letters.

“You’re just in time!” Peggy squealed as she jumped off the couch, having noticed you and Bucky stroll in. She raced over to you and crushed you in a hug. “I’m so glad you made it!”

“Maybe I would have hustled a bit more if Bucky had bothered to tell me what we were doing tonight,” you laughed, narrowing your eyes on Bucky who only shrugged.

“You’ve been so worried about the kid, I thought you deserved a little pick-me-up surprise, too,” Bucky said sincerely and you grinned at him.

“I have never seen this man as corny as he is with you,” Sam chuckled shaking his head as he hugged you.

“Nice to see you, too, Wilson,” Bucky grumbled, though it was in jest. He went in for a hug after Sam pulled away from you.

“He’s coming!” May shouted as she peered through the front window. She waved everyone back into the kitchen.

Bucky grabbed your hand, dragging you along as you giggled behind him. There was no time to hide, so the majority of the one-four were just huddled in one giant mass in the arch below the banner. The soft rustling of the key in the deadbolt clicked against the metal, the only sound in the room save for the hushed whispering and laughter.

The door squeaked open and Peter emerged in the doorframe, leaning on his cane as he slowly pushed the door closed behind him. It took him a moment before he noticed the crowd gathered in his Aunt’s living room. Eyes widening in the most genuine, almost child-like, surprise as the crowd shouted an unplanned mixture of “SURPRISE!” and “Welcome back!” and “Wait why are we doing this again?” (that last one came from Sam).

Peter’s jaw dropped, the widest smile you’d ever seen filling his cheeks, as he stumbled back from the pure shock of it until he hit the door. May rushed towards him to help steady him on his feet, but he was so giddy with excitement he was already halfway across the room, limping towards the crowd.

“Wow, guys, I don’t- I’m not sure what to even-” he stammered until his eyes fell on Steve standing just behind your shoulder. His back straightened immediately. “Captain Rogers, Sir! You, uh, you came?”

Steve chuckled, nodding his head. “It’s just Steve here, Pete. I’m glad you’re well enough to return to work, even if it’s only desk duty for a while. We’ve been missing your kind of energy around the one-four.”

Peter may have managed to smile even bigger in that moment. His cheeks were a light shade of pink, standing out amongst the series of faded burn marks on his neck that slipped under his shirt and ran down in jagged array across the right side of his body. He didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest, at least not in this moment.

“I suppose it’s been rather gloomy without you,” Bucky teased, nudging Peter ever so slightly in the shoulder, though not enough to cause him to lose balance. Sam shrugged next to him, but he eventually nodded in agreement.

“Oh, wow, thanks Detective Barnes!”

“How many times is it gonna take before I can get you to call us by our first names?” Bucky raised an eyebrow and you giggled under your breath next to him. Tony whisked in just as Peter’s ears started to redden awkwardly and ushered him towards the table filled with snacks.

Hours later as the crowd began to disburse and the sun had started to fall behind the tree line, the only ones who remained behind huddled on the couches in the living room were you, Bucky, Steve, Sam, Nat, and Peter; the core group who got your through the worst months of your life.

Peggy had left before the sun went down, giving Steve a kiss on the side of his cheek and quickly brushed away the residue of her red lipstick before any of the boys could notice. She winked at you when you caught her lick her thumb as she rubbed it over Steve’s cheek. She rushed over to give you a hug goodbye before she left.

Peter’s Aunt May had retired up to her room after Tony insisted he would take care of the dishes and cleanup. He left not long after that, saying his wife, Pepper, was beckoning for him.

Sam and Bucky were arguing about some old case he’d mentioned to you briefly when Bucky first started coming to your bar, before the chaos of Hydra infiltrated your life. Steve sat back in the couch, arms folded over his chest as he shook his head amusingly while they continued back and forth over who was truly the lead Detective. Steve only ignored them when they attempted to rope him in.

Peter was sitting up in his chair, intently listening to the two of them. It was almost like he was taking mental notes, nodding along, pursing his lips whenever one of them made a decent point. It was so easy to see how much he admired them.

Nat, in her usual state, was quietly observing from the kitchen chair she had pulled up to the couch next to you. Legs crossed and hands resting in her lap, she’d mumbled a quick-witted remark only you could hear, forcing you to laugh loudly and drawing the boys’ attention for a brief moment before they went back to their argument.

“I’m only saying that I was the one who tracked Zola down,” Sam reiterated for about the tenth time. “Without my informant, we never would have found his layer!”

“You say ‘layer’ like he’s a bad guy from a comic book!” Bucky shot back. “It was an abandoned warehouse, _at best,_ and we would have found it sooner if you had listened to me when I told you it was better to follow the money trail!”

“Warehouse?” Sam scoffed, “The guy practically had an entire lab set up inside!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as they went back and forth. You knew their relationship well. There wasn’t an ounce of bad blood between the two, but they bickered and fought like brothers. If it came down to it, and it has, they’d take bullets for one another without so much as a second thought. 

Sam wouldn’t stop reminding Bucky he had the scar to prove it.

You sat perched on the arm rest of the couch next to Bucky, leaning against his right shoulder as his arm sat draped over your legs. Your fingers had been playing with the short, soft strands of hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck, helping to ease him through his tension he carried. 

Eventually, Bucky grunted, conceding the argument for the sake of everyone’s sanity before the conversation had moved onto when Sam was finally going to work up the guts to ask out the pretty analyst on the second floor.

Laughter filled the room and soon, your cheeks hurt from smiling. Outside the window, dark overcast skies and rain began to drizzle against the glass. Bucky groaned slightly, only loud enough for you to hear as he tried to readjust his positioning. He rolled his left shoulder, trying to find some relief.

The rain usually made his shoulder hurt. Dr. Banner had explained to you it was due to the change in the barometric pressure which resulted in the expansion of soft tissue and fluid in the joints, leading to Bucky’s discomfort in his shoulder. Bucky didn’t much care about the science of it. All he knew was that it hurt and it served as a constant reminder of the day he failed to keep you safe, _again._ You were just pleased you had a warning for when Bucky would be in pain so you could do whatever you could to ease him.

As Steve was telling Sam about what the analyst on the second floor said about him at last year’s holiday party, your hand slipped beneath the fabric of Bucky’s shirt at his collar. Your cool hands brushing gently over the skin until they rested on the series of raised scars along his shoulder line. Bucky exhaled, the tension leaving his body for a moment and you massaged the tender area. They were rough to the touch, bumps and jagged lines covering his skin. He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, as your fingers rubbed carefully into the swollen muscle.

It had taken him nearly a month after his hospital discharge before he let you see him without his shirt on again. He was so ashamed of the scars, so disgusted by the pink cuts and abrasions littering his skin, that he could barely look you in the eye when you’d finally convinced him to show you. 

You had touched him so gently, so carefully, kissed every single raised edge on his shoulder, until he started to melt against you. That night as you made love, whispering sweet praises to him, breaths warm on his shoulder, lips brushing over the scars, Bucky promised to you he’d try to see the scars the way you did; as a symbol of his survival and of yours.

Bucky’s right hand reached up and set atop of yours under his shirt. He looked up at you, thoughtful, caring eyes, as he smiled ever so slightly, just for you to see. You pulled your hand from his shirt and he brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

Nat was in the middle of developing a play-by-play operation to get Sam in the right position to ask out the pretty analyst, though you were quite sure she was being completely sarcastic even though that was lost on Sam. Peter was laughing hysterically. Steve shaking his head, always so amused by his friends’ antics.

Bucky looked up at you. ‘ _I love you_ ’ mouthed on his lips before he pulled you down into his lap, hand snaking through your hair to the nape of your neck where he lightly ushered you closer. 

You kissed at his lips, smile brimming up into your cheeks as he brought your lower lip into his mouth. You could barely register Sam stopping mid-sentence to make some sort of gagging sound at you as Bucky’s fingers were tracing along your scalp.

When Bucky finally pulled back for air, he shot Sam a teasing glare before he wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek and snuggling you against him on the couch. The conversation quickly diverted back to interfering with Sam’s love life and even Steve threw in a few ideas on how to ask out the analyst.

All the while, cheeks burning with laughter, Bucky’s hands playing with yours, his lips pressing into your shoulder blade every so often, you couldn’t help but try to preserve this moment in your head; this small, misfit, make-shift family who had protected you, comforted you, stood by you through the worst parts of your life without question. They adopted you as their own. 

Finding this group of people, finding Bucky, made even the darkest days seem worth it.

Just to get a taste of family.

And of love.


	12. Bonus Chapter: Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow his discharge from the hospital, Bucky struggles to accept the scars upon his body and the limitations he suffers from the pain in his shoulder. You show him that he’s still every bit the man you grew to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is set between chapter 10 and the epilogue!

You woke sharply to the sound of glass shattering. A gasp caught in your throat, you glanced over to the left side of the bed only to find it empty. Your hand reached out to the sheets; cool fabric gripped beneath your palm. You wondered briefly if you had imagined it, when suddenly the sound rang out again, another glass breaking, followed by a loud, aggravated groan muffled by the door.

Heart aching, you rushed out to the kitchen to find Bucky panting heavily, leaning over the counter as a flush covered his cheeks. His hands curled into fists and it was evident he was doing all he could to keep himself from punching the counter top.

Broken shards of two dining plates covered the tile by his bare feet.

The moment he caught sight of you standing on the edge of the kitchen, his shoulders slumped, his gaze darting to the ground to avoid your worried eyes. Slipping on a pair of shoes by the door and picking up a pair of Bucky’s as well, you reached for the broom kept nestled in the crook of the pantry. It had happened enough times in the month since Bucky was discharged from the hospital for you to be prepared when it happened again.

“Don’t move, baby. I’ve got it,” you urged as you treaded closer to him. You swept away the shards by his feet and set the slides down. He moved to step into them, losing his balance for a moment, and your hand jutted out to grab onto his side, helping to steady him. The tensing of his muscles under your touch didn’t slip your notice.

“Thanks sweetheart,” he sighed heavily as he stepped away from the rest of the glass. You let your hand fall away from him. “I was just… I just wanted to make breakfast for you but I…” he gripped at his left shoulder, massaging the tender muscles. He winced as he did so and you could only imagine the pain he felt if he was unable to hide it in his face. He swallowed once the ache passed. “I’m sorry, doll. Just wanted to do something nice for you and I… I can’t even do that…”

“It’s okay, Bucky,” you replied sincerely, curling up to your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. Bristles of unshaven hair scratched at your lips, though you lingered anyway. He sighed when you pulled away.

You smiled sweetly at him, trying to convey what you had been telling him since he came home; that you didn’t mind for even a moment taking care of him, that he wasn’t a burden to you, that you loved him beyond belief whether he was broken or torn or bruised or scarred.

He just had a hard time hearing it.

The day he was discharged from the hospital had been a decent one. He forced out a smile and amused Sam’s jokes and Steve’s under the breath laughs as they helped escort him down to the lobby where you were there waiting.

While his energy had been depleted since his second round of surgery, having had to go back in again after he tore through the stitches on his abdomen in the parking garage face off with Pierce, he did his best to push through it. He denied the pain had been worse this time around but you noticed he starting asking the nurses for additional morphine when he thought you were asleep.

The transition back to the apartment itself had gone alright, especially with you insisting on staying with him. It was the only reason Dr. Palmer had agreed to release him two weeks early, knowing you’d be by his side caring for him.

It had started with excuses to kiss one another, to hold hands, to curl up on the couch and watch those documentaries you loved that Bucky couldn’t stop talking through. It was domestic and natural and made you wonder what life really could be like with him in a world without a threat looming over your shoulder.

That was, until Bucky started being titrated off of the medications and the pain in his shoulder swelled and ached enough to keep him up through the night. Until he wore dark circles under his eyes and could barely lift his left arm to a ninety degree angle. Until the pain had become so bad, you couldn’t lean against him on the couch because the added pressure was too much, until he couldn’t tolerate the short walk to the convenience store, couldn’t even wash his hair on his own, couldn’t shave his growing facial hair not because of the lack of coordination but because he was just so damn exhausted all the time. Until he retreated so far into himself, into this shell of self-pity and depression and agony that you could hardly recognize the man you loved.

“Let me help you,” you had begged one night, watching the way he struggled to pull his shirt from over his head. He was panting, gritting his teeth at pain in his shoulder, in his abdomen, all over his body.

You had reached toward him to help lift the fabric, your fingers grazing over the edge of the scar on his stomach, and he flinched away like you had burned him.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ” he shouted, lunging away from you.

You stepped back, wide eyed. It was the first time he had ever yelled at you like that.

His face had softened quickly, a realization of his reaction spreading over his features. Sad, ocean eyes stared back at you before they everted to the floor. “I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry, doll.”

You didn’t know how to comfort him if he wouldn’t let you touch him, even just to hold him.

Even now, as Bucky dragged his feet to the couch, away from the broken glass in the kitchen, you couldn’t help the painful ache burning deep in your chest. You bent down to swipe away the shards into the dust pan.

By the time you cleaned through the kitchen, vacuuming the floors just to be sure you’d gotten every piece after the last time when Bucky stepped into a stray shard just an hour after the incident, you heard the faint sound of your name coming from the living room.

You narrowed your eyes, focusing in on Bucky as he tried to turn from the couch to face you when a painful grimace covered his face. You set the broom back in the pantry and quickly made your way to him.

Taking a seat on the couch on his left, you could feel Bucky begin to tense up again. It was involuntary, you knew that, but that didn’t make it hurt less when he did. Bucky must have noticed.

“You, um, you know I love you, don’t you?” he finally asked, a lingering ache in his voice that tore at your chest.

Your hand brushed over the top of his thigh reflectively, seeking out his hand until you took it gently from his lap and wrapped it within your own. You brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing at the skin. He seemed to relax a bit, at least.

“Of course, I do, Bucky. What’s got you asking that?”

“I haven’t been fair to you,” he admitted, swallowing thickly. “You’ve done nothing but help me, even when I push you away, even when we argue when I push myself too hard in PT, and… I’m not myself, Y/n. I want to be better; I want to be the guy you know, the guy who sat across from you in that bar and flirted with you through an entire investigation, but this pain, it’s tearing me apart and every time I look at these disgusting scars all I can think about is how Rumlow was _this close_ to you and I couldn’t do shit about it and… God, Y/n I feel like such a burden to you, I don’t know why you would even want m-”

“Baby, stop,” you urged, bringing your free hand up to his face, guiding him to meet your eye. “I will always want you, even if I have to remind you a thousand times. I’ll tell you every day if you want. _I want you_ , Bucky. I love you. Every part of you. Scarred and not.”

Bucky did his best to hold your eyes, but with the tears brimming behind his lashes, he hung his head. He wanted to believe you; you knew he did. He tried so hard, but it would take time to ease him out of his instinctive need to carry every burden on his own, heavy misplaced guilt upon his shoulders.

Words didn’t seem to be enough.

You leaned in closer to him, watching carefully for a sign to pull away and when you were met with none, you pressed your lips to his cheekbone. He sighed, exhaling as if he could release an ounce of the weight on his shoulders with a single breath. You kissed his other cheek, then his nose, his forehead, his eyelids wet with tears, the corners of his mouth, until, finally, you pressed your lips to his own.

It was the first time you kissed him in weeks. Like a dessert scorched, desperate for reprieve, you kissed him with a feverish need to convey every word you had spoken, to convince him that he was so immensely loved, that he was brave and strong and everything you could ever want and need.

A gentle spark of surprise pulled at your stomach when he started to kiss you back, lips moving in tandem with your own, pulling and sucking and tasting one another because, _God,_ it had been too long and you needed him badly.

Your fingers grazed over the bottom of his shirt and he pulled back sharply, breathless. The swell of his reddened lips made your stomach flutter.

“What is it?”

Bucky swallowed, unable to hold your eye.

“You don’t know what it looks like under here, Y/n,” he mumbled, tugging at his shirt. “It’s bad. You don’t… You don’t wanna see it.”

“If you think a few scars are going to scare me away-“

“It’s not just a few scars,” Bucky took in a deep breath and he gripped your hands into his own. The rough skin of the scar in his palm brushed over your knuckles. He met your eye again and the swarm of insecurity laced in bright blue eyes broke your heart. “It’s like I can’t escape them.” You raised an eyebrow, not quite following, and he continued, “Rumlow. Ward. They’re all over me and I don’t- I don’t want you to have to relive it like I do. You shouldn’t have to see it again. You shouldn’t have to be reminded how much I failed you that day.”

“Oh, Bucky…”

You brushed away the tears at his eyes, leaning forward to capture his lips in a chaste kiss before you pulled back again. You gently grabbed his right hand, bringing it into your lap and traced over the dark pink scar on the inside of his palm. He watched you through apprehensive eyes as you brought his hand to your lips and kissed the torn flesh, turning his hand over to kiss at the mirrored mark on the back.

“Do you have any idea what these scars mean to me?”

Bucky stared blankly at you.

“They remind me you _survived,_ Bucky,” you confessed, gaze falling back to his palm, thumb brushing over the scars there. You smiled softly before meeting his eye again. “They remind me that you’re here and they’re not. That you survived the worst of what humanity had to offer and you’re still here. With me. You’re still the man I love. You’re still that guy who drank my shitty bottom shelf bourbon and insisted on being my own personal bodyguard just so you could justify how often you were coming in to flirt with me.”

Even Bucky surprised himself when he started to chuckle, a smiling pulling at his lips that ached in his cheeks. “You caught onto that, huh?”

“Don’t have to be a detective to know you’re a shameless flirt, Barnes,” you teased.

Bucky shrugged his right shoulder, tossing you the cocky grin you had grown to love, “only for you, doll.”

A comfortable silence came over as you just sat there, smiling softly at one another. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he was trying and that was enough for you. He’d get back there one day, you had no doubt in your mind he could. You couldn’t expect him to jump right back into the playful, quick witted, charming man you once knew. It would take time. He’d been tortured and mutilated and nearly died because of it. He needed time to heal and you were more than willing to give it to him.

What he didn’t seem to notice was that caring for him was how you had come to heal yourself. You weren’t there just yet, but being able to lay next to him at night, to glance over and see him within just a few feet at any given moment, to cook for him and run his errands, to hold him when he’d let you, helped to ease away at the trauma clouding your heart.

Loving him was how you had come to put yourself back together. All of him. Every part of him.

“Will you let me see them?”

Bucky’s gaze bored into yours, a hesitancy behind his eye before he eventually nodded.

As carefully as you could manage, your fingers brushed under the fabric of his t-shirt by his waist and he shivered as you grazed his skin. Cautious to not put any burden on his left shoulder, you helped him slide his right arm through the sleeve first, pulling the fabric up to bunch at his neck before you guided the shirt over his head and skimmed the bundled shirt down his left arm.

His bare chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, increased in pace the longer you looked at him, and his hands had curled into fists to stop the shaking, though it trembled up into his forearms.

Incredibly aware that Bucky was studying you for a reaction he would certainly never find, you swallowed back the lump in your throat as your eyes fell on the marred scars upon his left shoulder.

Your lower lip quaked at the sight and you pulled it into your mouth and bit down hard. Dozens of angry pink and red scarring covered his arm, concentrating in a ring around his shoulder, almost like it was an outline for an amputation. You were reaching out to touch it before you realized what you were doing and your fingertips just barely grazed against the rough skin before Bucky gasped, pulling away.

Your eyes flickered up to him and he took a deep breath to steady himself, nodding for you to continue. You touched the scar upon his abdomen first and he shivered as you ran your fingers over the surgical lines. Then, you dragged your fingers to the long, jagged cut on his forearm, tracing up the tiny marks and nicks in his skin, until you finally landed upon the mass of scar tissue upon his shoulder.

Bucky let out a long exhale as your fingers brushed over the surface of the scars, releasing weeks of tension in a single breath. You flattened your palm, easing over the sore muscles and caressing his arm until he started to relax under your touch again.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered and Bucky’s eyes flashed in shock. You smiled at him before you pressed a careful kiss to his shoulder, peppering your lips against each and every scar you could find. “You’re a survivor, Bucky. Even with all this, you came home to me.”

Bucky nodded, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of your words. There were too my scars, not enough room on the couch, and you slowly found your footing, offering him your hand. He took it graciously and you led him to his bedroom. Cautious of the tender muscles in his stomach, you assisted him in laying back on the bed before you crawled up next to him.

Swinging a leg over him, you hovered your body above his, careful not to put any pressures on his surgical wounds. Sitting back on his thighs, you tucked your hair behind your ear, catching the way Bucky was watching you with a kind of bewildered adoration that reminded you so much of the man who first walked into your bar.

Your hands grazed over his bare chest and Bucky shivered under your touch. His eyes fluttered shut at feeling. With the damage on his shoulder and on the side of his stomach, it was easy to overlook the tiny nicks scattered upon his upper body, scratches and lines carved into his skin like canvas by arrogant and ruthless men.

Lips pressed down to the scar along his collarbone, the scar on the right side of his chest, the long line on his bicep, taking extra care at the surgical scar on his stomach, until you let yourself kiss him all over, in places clean of scars and soft to the touch. All the while, you whispered praises against his skin, soft murmurs of ‘ _so gorgeous_ ’ and ‘ _my hero_ ’ and ‘ _my survivor._ ’

“Y/n,” Bucky sighed, his hand having snaked into your hair, his nails scratching pleasantly on your scalp. You grinned against his navel, glancing up innocently at him. He let his head fall back to the pillow. 

“Let me take care of you, baby,” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin as you played with the waist band of his sweats.

He nodded, letting out a shaky breath, and you curled your fingers under the elastic and pulled the fabric down his thighs. Bucky held his breath as he tried to help you by lifting his pelvis up but the wince over his face was too difficult to hide.

You pressed your hands to his hip bones. “I’ve got you. Just be still, honey.”

“Don’t like being still with you,” he mumbled back, though there was a teasing tone in his voice that brought a smile to your face.

You kissed his hipbone and continued draping the fabric down. Pulling along his briefs with his sweats. His hardened length sprang up to sit against his stomach and Bucky gasped at the brush of cold air. You continued peppering kissing to his thighs until you discarded the fabric to the side of the room.

Laying naked before you, even worn and beaten and scarred, Bucky Barnes was still the most beautiful man you had ever seen. You told him so and a blush reddened his cheeks.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re stuck with me like this,” he joked, though the lingering sincerity in his words made your heart ache.

“I’m saying it because it’s true, Bucky. One of these days you’ll believe me.”

“Whatever you say, doll.”

You crawled back up to the bed, your hands tracing along his legs, nails scratching at his skin enough to leave shivers in their wake. Bucky watched from hooded eyes as he waited eagerly for you to touch the one place he was craving you most. It was with agonizing pace that your fingers brushed over his hipbones, tracing down to the insides of his thighs until, finally, you touched him right at the base of his length and he let out a gasp, his cock flinching at the sensation.

You grinned, moving your hand up to the tip to spread the leaking precum down his shaft and Bucky bit down on his lip, holding back a moan.

“We shouldn’t have waited so long,” you giggled, watching his reaction as he tried to suppress the slacking of his facial muscles as you dragged your hand along his shaft. “You’re too sensitive now.”

“N-No, baby, I’m good,” he replied breathily, hands grasping into the sheets.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” you teased and he shot you a warning look that quickly morphed into pleasure as you gripped him harder, stroking up and down his length, thumb brushing over the tip in each pump. “Think you can last?”

“What are you— _oh!_ F- _fuck_ ,”

Your tongue swept up the thick vein on the underside of his length until you reached the tip and brought him into your mouth. His hands curled into your hair, gripping tightly at the base of your scalp to ground himself to something, and you wondered if he pulled the hair away from your eyes on purpose, just to see your mouth on him a little clearer.

With a hand pumping firmly at the base of his cock, you dipped your tongue along the slit of his tip and Bucky choked back a whimper. You glanced up at him, mouth suctioned around him as you bobbed your head up and down, and the look on Bucky’s face was enough to soak your core; entirely blissed out, lips parted just enough, seeking out a pleasure before it crashes. You pressed your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

“Y/n, baby, f- _fuck_ , wait,” Bucky panted and you could feel he was close. Balls clenching up as you massaged them, his cock pulsing as you hollowed your cheeks, and Bucky took in a sharp breath as you ran your thumb up the thick vein on the underside of his length.

His grip in your hair tightened, a godly sound left his lips, and he was spilling into your mouth. Cock throbbing as you continued to pump him through his released, swallowed him down as you licked over his tip, his breath catching. You released him with a pop of your lips, wiping the stray drool from your chin.

You sat back on his thighs, keen to watch him recover as his cock slumped back against his stomach, his chest panting with a flush of color in his cheeks. Bucky stared up at you from under hazy eyes and you licked your lips, sending him a wink. He shook his head, the widest grin you had seen in him in a long time upon his face.

“I ever tell you I love you?” he asked breathily. 

“Never hurts to hear it again, you know.”

“Well shit. I really fucking love you.”

You laughed, the kind that hurt in your stomach a bit. Sitting for a while, content to watch him as he caught his breath again, smile etched into cheeks, it took a few months before either of you spoke again. Then, Bucky’s eyes drifted over to you, hungrily running along your body, desperate to see the underneath.

“You gotta let me touch you, babe, please,” Bucky begged, reaching out towards you and you sent him a quizzical look. “My right hand’s a little fucked up but it still works.” He raised the hand where a knife had been plunged through the center, now covered in matching scars upon either side of his palm. “Please, Y/n. I’ll be ready again for you soon, I promise, but I gotta touch you.”

Eyes glanced back to his cock, already half-hard, and you grinned up at him, more than willing to indulge his request. You grabbed a hold of your shirt by your waist and tugged it over your hair, leaving your chest bare to him. He let out a pleasant exhale, just taking you in.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get tired of see you like this.”

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes.”

“Maybe,” he grinned, his right hand gripping at the waist band of your sleep shorts as you crawled up closer to him. “These, too. Please, doll?”

“I really like it when you beg,” you smirked as you shimmied the shorts down your thighs, pulling your panties off with them.

There was no room for insecurity in a bed with Bucky. The way his eyes raked over you, like he was attempting to memorize every last detail, sent a thrill of electricity through you. No one ever looked at you like Bucky did. It was hard to shy away from a stare that made you feel so loved.

“Where do you want me?” you asked innocently, eyes catching onto the thick mesh of scars on his abdomen.

“Right here.” Bucky pulled you flush against his right side, draping your left leg over his. Still laying on his back, you on your side, Bucky slipped his right hand between your legs. With a careful wince he dragged his left hand over to you to cup at your breasts.

“Don’t hurt yourself for my sake,” you teased, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under his left shoulder so he didn’t have to keep it propped up.

“Making it easier for me to touch my girl,” Bucky sighed. “You’re an angel.”

“It’s all selfishly motivated.”

“Sure, it is.”

Your left hand ran along his chest, tracing over scars and soft skin alike as Bucky caressed you, his thumb circling over the nipple of your left breast. Your fingers ran up to the side of his face, raking against his scalp soothingly as he touched you. His eyes flickered to your lips and you leaned into him, pressing your mouth to his.

His hand left your breast to run along your bare back as he sucked your lower lip between his own. You moaned out against him as his tongue swept along yours and plunged into your mouth. Bucky’s right hand still cupped at your core, though it sat unmoving, like he was teasing you, like he was waiting for you to do something about it.

As he bit down ever so gently on your lip, you grinded down against his hand, sandwiching it to his thigh. He chuckled against you.

“You gonna do something about this?” you smirked, pulling back to find him grinning uncontrollably.

“Be careful what you ask for, doll,” he purred, kissing at your neck when your lips were too far away for him to reach. “I ain’t got my full strength but I’ll still give it to you good, baby. I promise.” He sucked on the sweet spot by your collarbone and you stretched your neck for him, sighing at the sensation. “Just wait until I’m healed. You won’t know what hit you.”

“All talk, Barnes,” you baited, smiling blissfully as he moved his lips up your neck to your earlobe.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Then his fingers moved at your core and two fingers dipped between your folds and ran a slow line up your slit. You gasped against him, hand curling into what you could grasp of his short hair. You could feel Bucky’s lips smirk against your jawline. “That’s what I thought.”

“Bucky,” you gaped, hiking your left leg further up his body, your knee brushing against his cock, hardened against his stomach.

His fingers trailed up along your dripping core, coating in your wetness as he spread it up to your clit to run circles enough to send a jolt through you. Then, he dipped a finger into you and you bit down on your lip, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. He curled it at the knuckle and when that wasn’t enough, he slipped in a second, using his thumb to put pressure on the tiny bundle of nerves.

“Oh, God, Bucky…” you moaned, muffled by the pillow. When a third finger entered you, you gripped him so tightly you were afraid you might hurt him. He pumped his fingers a few times and you could feel the slick dripping down your thighs.

“You good, sweetheart?”

“Need you,” you muttered, pulling your face from his neck hazily. You met his eye to find him sighing in relief. You glanced down at his cock, dripping in precum, the angry vein pulsing painfully up his length, then to the mess of scars on his shoulder and torso. “Think you can handle it?”

Bucky laughed. “Who cares?”

“ _Bucky!_ ”

“I’m okay, doll. Maybe a little sore but it’ll go down. You won’t break me. This is worth a little pain, okay?” Bucky replied sincerely, his left hand cupping the side of your face and brushing a stand of hair behind your ear. “Now, please. For the love of God. _Ride me_.”

You giggled, pushing yourself up and straddling his waist. Bucky tried to prop himself up on his elbows just to get a little closer to you, but the grimace on his face and the grit of his teeth was enough to send him collapsing against the pillows. You brushed your hand over his chest, reaching up to cup the side of his face.

“Let me do the work, honey. You wanted me to ride you,” you purred, grabbing a hold of his cock and slowly lining him up with your entrance, “ _let me ride you_.”

Then, you sank down onto him, his hard length stretching you with a pleasant ache until you took all of him in. You sighed, the feeling of him inside you one that you didn’t know if you’d ever get used to. Bucky’s hands caressed your thighs, waiting patiently despite the flush in his cheeks, until you eventually rocked your hips forward.

The feeling of him was unlike anything else. There were no words to describe him.

“Oh fuck, doll,” Bucky groaned as his gripped at your hips, urging you to move against him again.

Heaven. Heaven is what he felt like. 

Slow, steady rolls and careful movements, and making love in every sense of the term, as you let your hand travel down your body to where you were conjoined to rub at your clit. You gasped, circling the nub gently just to prolong the feeling before it became messy and raw and full of heat.

“You’re the fucking love of my life,” Bucky whispered breathily, eyes closed, lips parted, and you nearly stopped your movements if it wasn’t for his hands guiding you as you rocked against him. You stared at him, stilling your fingers over your clit, just watching him in his pleasure.

_Love of my life._

He just might be the love of yours, too.

You restarted the pressure on your clit again, this time in faster movements, picking up pace as you rocked your hips, and Bucky’s eyes darted open. He bit on his lower lip, chewing on it to keep himself from coming too fast, because _dammit_ he felt like he was about to burst. The way in which he watched you, like you hung every star in the sky, like you were an angel from heaven, like you were nothing but perfect in his eyes, only urged you on.

He was _unequivocally_ the love of your life.

“Ah, fuck, Bucky, I’m gonna come,” you gritted out and Bucky’s fingers dug into your hips. 

“I’m right there, baby,” Bucky panted, doing his best to suppress the need to thrust up into you and save his muscles a world of pain. “Come for me.”

A wave of pleasure washed over you, walls clenching around him, as your body fell forward, arming propping you up to hover just over Bucky’s chest to avoid pressure on his scars. Chasing your post-haze and urging Bucky to find his own release, you kept your hips rocking, lips sucking at his neck.

Panting and sweating and hands gripping at your hips, Bucky came with the sweetest sounding moan you’d ever heard. Cock throbbing inside of you as he spilled all he could offer, you rocked him through the lingering effects of his bliss, kissing at his jawline, his cheekbones, his lips, through all of it.

Breathless, you finally pulled yourself off of him, an emptiness falling behind as he left you. Before he could protest, you jumped up from the bed to clean yourself with a warm cloth, bringing one back to the bed to remove the sticky wetness from his softened cock. He flinched slightly at the touch, too sensitive, and you kissed his forehead, chuckling under your breath.

“That’s my job, just so you know for when I have full coordination again,” Bucky reminded you as you crawled back into the bed next to him.

“Yeah, whatever you say,” you teased, curling up beside him as he maneuvered his right arm for you to lay your head on his chest. Careful of the scar on his stomach, you draped your arm over his waist.

While it was still morning, you were nearly on the verge of sleep again when Bucky’s cleared his throat.

“Y/n?”

You pulled yourself up to look at him, a nervous glance in his eye. “Yeah, Buck?”

“Will you reach into the drawer for me? There’s a blue box in there.”

You narrowed your eyes, curious, though you did as he asked. You stretched over him and pulled out the drawer. Sure enough, sitting on the top was a small blue box. Pulling it out, you handed it to him. Bucky took a deep breath, and tried to push himself to sit up. Noticing what he was doing, you sat up yourself and grabbed a hold of his forearm to help pull him up, his stomach muscles still weak from the surgery.

“I didn’t know a good time to give this to you since I’ve been, well, wallowing in self-pity for a while,” Bucky said, a slight nervous chuckle in his voice. “I had Steve go pick this up the day I left the hospital.”

“Bucky what are you-“

“Please, open it.” He handed you the box, a soft smile upon his swollen lips.

You took the box from his hand, examining it for a moment before you opened it. You sucked in a breath, your heart fluttering, when you saw the gold pendent at the center. Yours. Though it was a little different. You had broken it in half when you gave it to Steve, hadn’t you?

“Bucky…”

“I had to get a new badge. Did I ever tell you that?” Bucky asked, scratching at the back of his head. “My old one got a bullet in it, nicked it right up, and well, your necklace needed something to put it back together, so I asked the jeweler if he could, um, melt down part of my badge to complete the mold again. So, it’s… it’s still the pieces of your necklace, but it has parts of me, too.”

Tears welled in your eyes as your fingers brushed over the pendent. Bucky watched your carefully, his heart racing wildly as he waited for your reaction. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Is it okay?”

You choked back tears, gently pulling the necklace from the box and letting it slip into your fingers. “Okay? Bucky, it’s beautiful.”

“I know it doesn’t look quite the same and my badge is a different shade of gold but-“

You interrupted him with a kiss pressed to his lips. “It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” Bucky exhaled in relief, the sweetest smile upon his face as he slumped back against the pillows, just admiring you.

You nodded, smile brimming on your face as you pulled your hair to the side and clasped the chain around your neck. You could feel his hand running lovingly along your thigh as he watched you. The pendent fell down to the bare of your chest, gold shining against your skin, a reminder of your past and your future.

Your protector.


	13. Drabble: Therapy Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: would reader and bucky ever get a dog to help deal with their trauma like a therapy dog? i imagine her coming home with a puppy and surprising bucky

“What is that?”

Bucky stood in the doorframe of the apartment with a half empty cup of coffee in one hand and the daily paper in the other. He was dressed in his navy slacks and the light blue button-down shirt he had worn the first time he sauntered into your bar, the shiny gold badge affixed to his hip. You had suggested he wear it on his first day back at work for good luck. Granted, he was stuck on desk duty for the time being along with half of the one-four while they recovered, but he was happy to just have his routine back, at least. 

“Um,” you grimaced, attempting to ease the apprehensive look upon Bucky’s face. “His name is Shiloh and he’s ours.”

“He’s _what now_?”

An excited bark came from the german shepherd puppy by your feet the very moment Bucky stepped into the apartment. You crouched down next to Shiloh, running your hand over his head and along his back as the puppy wagged its tail furiously, thumping it along the hardwood floors. 

“You- You got a dog?” Bucky asked nervously, setting the coffee and paper down on the counter. 

“I got _us_ a dog,” you clarified, scooping the puppy up into your arms. You brought him over to Bucky and he reached out carefully to pat the dog’s head, only for his hand to be covered in sloppy wet kisses. It pulled a smile out of Bucky and he curled his fingers under Shiloh’s chin to scratch along his neck. 

“He’s a therapy dog,” you added quietly while Bucky seemed to be distracted petting the puppy. You chewed on your bottom lip, waiting for his reaction. You didn’t know what you were expecting honestly, but you only hoped he would be okay with it. 

Bucky paused, his face softening as he began to scratch behind Shiloh’s ears. He didn’t say anything. 

“He’s still going through training but he’s so lovable and they told me that he’s really good with, um, with nightmares,” you continued, eyes darting to the floor. 

You’d woken Bucky so often in the middle of the night you were starting to resort to all kinds of measures to get yourself through the night; medications, meditation, even caffeine in the few days you had attempted to evade sleep all together before Bucky put a stop to it. 

He swore to you he didn’t mind lulling you back to sleep in the early hours of the morning, murmuring comforting praises into your ear, and tracing circles along your back. It was part of his job, he told you. Bodyguard duty didn’t end when Hydra was disbanded. Loving you was a round the clock job; one he happily signed up for. 

Though, when it had gone onto two weeks straight of your screams disrupting his sleep to the point where he was drinking two cups of coffee in the morning and he started to sport dark circled under his eyes, you went out in search of something to aid with the trauma Bucky couldn’t heal for you, though he tried. Shiloh seemed like your last hope. 

Bucky swallowed, eyes glancing up to you for a brief moment before he leaned down to press a kiss to Shiloh’s nose. He met your eye, a lingering sadness you had come to grow used to, unable to erase in the months of his physical recovery and your emotional trauma. It was apart of you now, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t grow from it. Together. 

“I think that’s a great idea, doll,” Bucky finally admitted and a relief swelled in your chest. He bounced a finger on Shiloh’s nose, a grin pulling at his lips as Shiloh’s tongue hung out over his mouth, playing. 

“You think so?” 

“”Course, I do,” Bucky nodded, leaning forward to capture your lips in his own. Chaste, routine, simple; like it was as easy as holding your hand, as expected as a greeting when he walked in the door. “Anything for my girl. Plus, I can train him to mess with Sam. It’ll be fun.”

That got you laughing and Bucky encased you in his arms, Shiloh wedged between you. You leaned against his shoulder and you cringed as a wet tongue ran over your chin, drawing a giggle from you as Bucky rubbed at Shiloh’s belly. 

“We’re gonna be alright, doll. You and me.”

“And Shiloh,” you added. 

“Right,” Bucky chuckled, pressing his lips to your forehead, “and Shiloh.”


	14. Drabble: Meet the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: i have so many drabble or requests i could come up with for the witness omg haha bucky proposing? meeting the families? first christmas together? :)

“I don’t know about this, doll,” Bucky swallowed nervously, adjusting his tie for the third time in as many minutes as he looked himself over in the mirror. Slicking a hand back through his hair, his left hand was gripping the counter top so tightly his knuckles were ghosted white. 

“He’s going to love you because I love you,” you said, wrapping your arms around Bucky’s waist as you came up behind him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade through the thin fabric of his dress shirt. 

“I’m a _cop_ , Y/n,” Bucky reminded you, as if you had forgotten. He still wore that nervous little wrinkle on his forehead. You tugged him around to face you, cupped the sides of his cheeks and brought his lips to yours, kissing him sweetly.

“A cop who gave up nearly everything to keep his daughter safe,” you countered, kissing him chastely again before you pulled away. 

Bucky nodded. “Right, yeah. Okay. Okay, I can do this. Let’s go.”

When you arrived at the correctional facility in Newark, after having sustained several New Jersey themed jokes from Bucky who couldn’t seem to push the anxious nerves aside, you grabbed a tight hold of Bucky’s hand. Visiting your father in prison wasn’t always the best experience, though it was never your father’s fault. Sometimes the guards were handsier than they should be or the inmates would shamelessly ogle you as you walked by. You hoped having Bucky by your side would change that. 

After making your way through security, checking your belongings with the attendant, and a glaring side-eye from Bucky when a guard’s hand lingered a little too long on your hip in the pat down, you made your way to the visitor’s room. 

Sitting at the table in the far left corner, was your father; hands clasps as he rested the upon the table, tapping his toe as he waited for your arrival. Light blue jumpsuit and grey in his hair that seemed to increase every time you saw him. 

Bucky’s hand tight in your own, you made your way towards him, tugging Bucky along when you began to hear the whispers of inmates who recognized him from their days on the streets. 

“Hey dad,” you grinned, setting your free hand on his shoulder to grab his attention. 

“Oh, Y/n, I’m so happy to see you,” he beamed, scooting out from the chair to give you a big hug. Even as an adult, you struggled to find a more comforting place than your father’s arms, though, glancing back at the nervous cop behind you, you realized you had. 

“Dad,” you pulled back and reached for Bucky to step forward. “This is Detective Barnes. Bucky. He’s the one who was with me through all the, um, the Hydra stuff.”

Your father narrowed his eyes, studying Bucky over. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky replied quickly, his face stern but his eyes glanced over at you nervously. You offered him an encouraging smile from over your father’s shoulder. Bucky cleared his throat. 

“You make a habit of falling for all your witnesses?”

“No, sir. Just her,” Bucky said, his voice stronger now, more confident. 

Your father ran his hand over his mouth, folding his arms. He stole a quick glance back to you before he turned to Bucky. “You love her?”

“ _Dad!_ ”

“Yes, sir. I do.” It was the easiest thing Bucky had said all day. 

Slowly but surely a smile broke out upon your father’s face and before you could warn Bucky, your father had encased him in one of his hugs tight enough to steal the breath from Bucky’s lungs. 

“Ok, then, _Detective_ ,” your father grinned. “Welcome to the family.”


	15. Drabble: Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Since it was just the 4th of July, what about a 4th Drabble where they have a big bbq with all their friends and the boys all end up doing something ridiculous with fireworks or something and all the ladies are just sitting there laughing

“Which one of these idiots is responsible for putting Sam in charge of fireworks again?” Nat scoffed as she took another sip from her beer.

You laughed into your drink, nearly choking on it as you looked up to find Sam, Bucky, and Steve arguing at the far end of the yard. Sam held up a firecracker, just out of Bucky’s reach and you could practically see the steam radiating out of Bucky’s ears. He yanked it away from Bucky nearly took it from his grasp. 

“Certainly wasn’t Bucky,” you teased as Sam literally threw the firecracker down the yard a few feet away just to keep it out of Bucky’s hands. The deadpan look that followed and the near physical brawl was enough to get you laughing so hard your stomach started to ache.

“I would assume Sam just took on the mantle himself,” Peggy shrugged, lounging back in her chair completely unbothered. She readjusted her sunglasses and sent you a wink. 

“One would think Steve would be in charge,” Carol added, petting the new puppy you and Bucky had adopted a few months ago. Shiloh licked at her hand and she grinned. “You know, being the Cap and all.”

“That only seems to be in effect during business hours,” Peggy smirked. “Off clock, he’s just as ridiculous as the rest of them.”

While Steve jumped between Bucky and Sam to keep them from actually swinging fists, Peter emerged through the sliding doors behind you, carrying several refills of drinks.

“I got more alcohol,” he called out as switched out Nat’s beer and your mixed drink. He still walked with a limp but he was off the crutches and the burns had begun to heal enough that they weren’t the first thing you noticed anymore. He threw you that boyish smile as he took a seat on your left.

“You don’t want to help the guys out?” you joked, gesturing towards Bucky who faked out a punch just to make Sam flinch.

“I’m very content right here,” he chuckled nervously, grimacing as Sam lunged at Bucky.

You only laughed, knowing there was never any bad blood between the boys but Sam and Bucky had a brotherly way of getting under one another’s skin. They’d be laughing around the campfire together in an hour. 

“Oh thank God!” Peggy exclaimed as Tony and his wife, Pepper, walked outside. Peggy winced as Sam chucked another firework across the yard and Bucky’s groan was loud enough to carry up to the lawn chair. “Tony, please do something about that.”

She gestured dramatically to the three men still arguing at the end of the yard and you burst out laughing as Tony rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Peg. I’ll handle it,” Tony shook his head, though he rolled up his sleeves and a smirk pursed his lips. He was very much enjoying this. “Pep, you good?”

“I think they need you more than I do,” she smiled, pushing him along. She sat down next to Carol, playing with Shiloh.

True to his word, Tony handled it in a matter of minutes. Steve and Bucky jogged up to the house as Sam hung back to help Tony get the fireworks lit.

Bucky had a sheen of sweat on his forehead and a silly grin on his face as he ducked down to kiss you. You laughed, swatting him away when he tried to deepen it further just to tease you in front of your friends.

“Here,” you giggled, face red, as Bucky finally pulled back and you handed him a beer. “Drink.”

He narrowed his eyes on the bottle, feigning offense. “Doll, where’s my shitty bourbon?”

“Too hot for bourbon and you drank the last of the bottle yesterday, smartass,” you teased, shoving his shoulder. 

“Best we order more then.”

Bucky grabbed your hand and in one swift movement, hulled you out of your seat to your feet, threw himself down into the chair, snuck in arms around your waist and tugged you down to his lap. You yelped, grabbing onto Bucky’s forearms to stabilize yourself. He laughed against your shoulder blade, pressing a kiss to the exposed skin. 

“Incoming!” Sam shouted, racing up the yard behind Tony as the first firework sprang up into the air, and exploded in a beautiful array of colors. 

Bucky gripped onto you tighter, rocking you softly as you leaned against him, slumping further into his lap. You watched as the fireworks jetted up into the sky, flashes of colors and the thunderous sound that followed captivating you beyond the feeling of Bucky encasing you in his arms. 

“It’s so beautiful,” you exhaled, staring up at the sky. 

Bucky sighed against your shoulder blade, pressing another kiss to your back. “Sure is, doll.”


	16. Drabble: Depression Beard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shawnie--jo asked: Does Bucky have a beard in the witness? If not, would reader like it if he grew one? Or if he does, reader loves it when he shaves?? Like he’s really surprised by her reaction lol

You had come to recognize the presence of Bucky’s facial hair as a symbol of his emotional state. At his baseline, when he was charming and witty and flirting with you from across the bar, he was clean shaven. It was how you had met him. Smooth skin upon his cheeks, looking years younger with that uncanny ability to absolutely shine when he smiled at you.

It was in the moments when he lost himself that you noticed the 5 o’clock shadow grow in. When he was stressed on the job, in the months he started the round the clock guard shifts at your bar. 

It grew longer when he gave into the burdens he carried on his shoulders, unable to convinced himself to let you share the load no matter how much you asked. It started to darken along his jawline. Thick, scratchy whiskers against your face as you stole kisses from him before he could shy away, drawing out a smile that just barely touched his eyes.

The month after he was released from the hospital had been a difficult one. 

Too worn and tired and so full of pain that he could hardly look you in the eye for fear that he might be too much for you to carry. It was the longest you’d seen his beard. Bristles short though they were many and covered his lower cheeks and jawline completely, unkempt. 

You’d run your hand along the hairs, thumb tracing absentmindedly along his cheek bone until you could draw his eye to you. The lingering sadness behind the shades of blue broke your heart. He wasn’t himself when it grew out this thick.

The morning he walked out of the bathroom with a clean shaven face, dark brown whiskers drained down the sink, you lunged yourself at him, grinning ear to ear. 

“Your face!” you squealed, hands gripped at his cheeks as he chuckled softly. Soft, incredibly smooth skin upon his face, fingers brushing along his jawline, and you couldn’t get enough. Silk. Heaven. 

“You like it?” he asked nervously. It had been a while since you’d seen him completely shaven. Maybe since before the Hydra hit. He wasn’t entirely sure you’d be okay with it.

You smiled up at him, nodding for more reasons than he knew. Because he was so handsome you couldn’t stand it, beard or not. Because he was smiling again. Because it meant that he was ready to be himself again.

“I love it! I love _you_ ,” you added, more careful these days to say it as often as you could. 

Bucky took you into his arms, holding you tightly before he brought his lips down to yours. You giggle against his mouth, the smooth skin brushing against you instead of the rough hairs.

“I love you, too, doll.”


	17. Drabble: Depression Beard pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: lmao Bucky decides to grow a beard just cause and reader is like ARE YOU OKAY?? And he’s like......

“Hey, so I was thinking we could meet up with Steve and Peg for dinner on Sun—” Bucky’s voice trailed off as he glanced up from the top of the morning paper to find you staring at him apprehensively. He narrowed his eyes, “…on, um, on Sunday… why are you looking at me like that?”

You blinked a few times, trying to shake off whatever was in your head. A careful hand reached forward and drew fingers down along the subtle scruff on his cheeks. It prickled against your skin.

“Are you okay?” you asked nervously, sighing as you let your hand fall back to the table.

“What? Of course, I’m okay, doll. The sun’s shining. I start field work again next week. I’m here with you. What could possibly be wrong with me?” Bucky laughed, scooping up your hand to pepper kisses to the knuckles.

You shrugged, eyes focused on the shadow that had begun to grow upon his face over the last few days. Everything had been fine, you were sure of it. It had been ages since your last nightmare now that your new puppy Shiloh was around and with the physical therapy and a generous amount of time, the pain in Bucky’s arm had gone down. And yet, with all that good, something had to be wrong.

“Your beard,” you admitted and Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You only grow it when you’re stressed or upset or closing yourself off from me like you did after Rumlow walked into my bar and I’m afraid you’re going to shut me out again and-“

“Whoa, doll, I’m fine! I promise,” Bucky chuckled as he pulled you into his arms. You wrapped your own around his waist as his chin settled on the crown of your head. “Just wanted to try something different is all. Thought you’d like it, actually.”

You nodded against him, the ache in your chest alleviating somewhat.

“I didn’t even realize I was only growing my beard when things weren’t going well,” Bucky shook his head and the lingering laugh in his voice brought a soft smile to your lips. “You’re very perceptive. Ever think of becoming a cop?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. He was always able to pull those from you when you needed it most.

“I think I’ve done enough damage to my reputation just by being in a relationship with one and having half of the one-four show up at my bar on a weekly basis,” you teased, stretching up to kiss his cheek, soft scratches on your lips.

“Certainly can’t have that, now can we?”

Bucky laughed, tilting your chin up to capture your smile against his lips, a feeling you’d never quite get used to.


	18. Drabble: Bucky Can't Stop Smiling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: I’d love to see a Drabble from Bucky’s POV of like Steve, Sam and Nat teasing him about reader like before they were really a thing :)

“Is he smiling? Someone better pinch me. I think Barnes might actually be smiling at the start of a shift.”

Sam pushed his arm out in front of Nat, waving it around dramatically, only for her to shove him away with an aggravated huff. 

Bucky shook his head, grin still present upon his lips as he strolled into the bull pen of the one-four. 

Nat narrowed her eyes, studying the silly smile upon Bucky’s face. He had a bounce in his step for god’s sake. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing _happened to me,_ ” Bucky chuckled as he took a seat at his desk. He logged into the computer, tapping his toe along to the rhythm of American Pie as it sang in the back of his head. It had played over the jukebox three times in your bar last night.

“ _Something_ happened to you,” Sam grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. 

Then, Nat nodded to Bucky’s foot and the slight bob of his head while the faint semblance of lyrics passed over his lips. 

Sam choked back a laugh. “Are you singing?”

“What? No.”

“You totally are!

“Y/n is what happened to him,” Steve commented flatly as he took a sip from his mug, walking up to the group. He shot Bucky a knowing smirk and tucked his free hand into the pocket of his slacks.

“You’re still hung up on the bartender?” Sam gawked.

It had been a week of Bucky stopping by your bar everyday after work and though he was starting to wear dark circles under his eyes, it didn’t impede the smile on his face. He was willing to sacrifice some sleep to pick up some extra off the book guard shifts at your place.

“She the witness to the Hydra hit?” Nat asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam to confirm. When he nodded, Nat pursed her lips, raising an eyebrow at Bucky, almost as if in understanding. 

“We really don’t have to talk about this,” Bucky urged, though he couldn’t pull the lighthearted tone from his voice. He was too caught up in looking forward to seeing you again in a few hours. Nine o’clock couldn’t come soon enough. He wondered if he should switch up his drink order, but he had committed to that shitty bourbon for the sake of a dumb joke and now he was stuck. Maybe he’d get used to it. Perhaps even grow to like it. He wondered if you’d ever tried it yourself. Maybe if he stuck around to the end of the shift he could as if you’d have a drink with him or-

“Oh my God, he’s literally zoned out just thinking about her now, isn’t he?” Sam’s voice pulled Bucky from his thoughts.

Bucky shot Sam a glare, frowning.

“There it is! There’s the face I know and love! Welcome back Barnes,” Sam clapped Bucky on the back with a playful laugh before he swung around to his own desk across from his partner.

Nat shook her head, rolling her eyes at Sam. “Well I think it’s nice. Seeing you happy. Try not to mess it up, Barnes. I like her.”

“You haven’t met her yet, Nat,” Bucky countered with a soft smile.

“I know she makes you smile and it’s been a while since you’ve been happy. She sounds like she could be good for you.” Nat squeezed his forearm encouragingly and turned back to her computer. 

Bucky nodded to himself, taking in her words. It had been a while since he’d felt like this. Excited. From the first first moment he met you with a shotgun in your hand and confiscating a knife from a man twice your size, he knew there was something special about you. It was the reason he gave you his card and found himself swinging by just to have an excuse talk to you more. Even before the Hydra hit, he still felt drawn to you.

“You’ve got it bad, huh?” Steve asked quietly thought it was more of an observation. Bucky sighed, exhaling a heavy breath before he nodded his confession. Steve set his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Just be careful, Buck. You’re forgetting she’s a witness in a pretty serious case. There’s a reason I fought you on handing over lead on this.”

“Not gonna be a problem,” Bucky replied confidently. “I’ve got it under control.”

“You sure about that?”

“Completely.”

“You know you’re still cheesing like a fool right?”

Bucky chewed on his cheek in and effort to suppress it though it didn’t do much good. He didn’t know how _not_ to smile when he thought of you. Standing behind the bar as you waved off every attempt he made to flirt with you, though he still noticed the flush in your cheeks. Pouring him a glass of that god awful bourbon he pretended to like and telling him about the latest shenanigans your patrons got up to. Sending him that smile of yours from down the bar that made his stomach turn in the sweetest way.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever stop smiling and no amount of teasing from his friends was going to get in his way.


	19. Drabble: Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Would the reader or Bucky be the one to be excited to decorate their place for holidays? Or both? :)

It wasn’t even past ten o’clock on Thanksgiving night when Bucky brought up a box of holiday decorations from the storage unit in the basement. It was the first of six. Every time he lugged himself up the stairs, you were surprised to find another box in his hands, his lips grinning ear to ear as he hummed ‘Deck the Halls’ slightly out of tune to himself. 

“You want me to get your stuff?” Bucky asked, wiping his brow of sweat after he brought up his last box.

“Oh that’s alright,” you waved him off, pressing out a nervous smile.

“I don’t mind at all, doll. Here, let me take your keys and I’ll be back in no time.”

Bucky held his hand out to you, that genuine look in his eyes that made your heart flutter, and you let out a heavy sigh.

“I, um, I don’t have any.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What? _Why not?_ ”

You shrugged. “It’s been a while since I celebrated the holidays, Buck. Even before dad was arrested, it was never the same after mom died and after a while we just gave up on it. These days since I’ve been on my own, there hasn’t been much to celebrate. No family and all.”

Bucky’s face fell. He swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say. Eyes glancing down to the series of boxes by his feet, then back to you. He sighed, crossing the plane of the room to you and he ran his hands soothingly along your arms until he pulled a smile from your lips.

“Well, you’ve got a huge family now,” Bucky said warmly and your heart swelled. “You’ve got me, for one, and the whole one-four. Nat organizes a Secret Santa every year and I always somehow end up with Sam so you’ll have to help me find something really stupid and impractical for him.”

“I bet she does it on purpose,” you laughed and Bucky nodded his head, that smile upon his lips you adored so much.

“Plus, we can make sure we go see your dad more often,” he offered, his voice a little softer, “maybe I could go with you to the cemetery to see your mom, too? Only if you want, I mean.”

“You’d do that?” 

You never even thought to ask if he wanted to come along. All you did was sit at the edge of a grass plot and talked at a tombstone for an hour. It always made you feel a little crazy but it brought some relief when you were able to convince yourself she could hear you, wanted to know the updates on your life. You told her about Bucky the first day you met him when he was called in on that bar fight.

“Course I would, doll,” Bucky replied sincerely. “You know I’d do anything for you. Plus, I’d like to tell her about my intentions with you.”

“Your intentions?” you scoffed, laughing as Bucky encased you in his arms. “What are you, from the 40s? Think you might want to tell me about your so-called ‘intentions’?”

“That’s for you to know about later,” Bucky grinned. “This is between me and your mom and the magic of the holidays.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“A dork with a very extensive decoration collection that won’t hang itself.”

“Fine, fine,” you teased, pushing Bucky away to open the first box. It was packed to the brim. You shot him a playful glare and he only shrugged, setting a Santa hat on his head that looked about two decades old. He winked at you and you couldn’t hold back that smile pushing at your cheeks.


	20. Drabble: Unplanned Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Saw some prompts that made me think of the witness drabbles :) “Have you seen my hoodie?” “Nooo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

Bucky had chills running down his spine; goosebumps and hairs prickling on his forearms because the damn heat just didn’t want to work right and Brooklyn apartments don’t exactly have the best insulation.

He dug through his drawers, the laundry basket, the far corners of his closet, searching for his favorite sweatshirt. It was worn with years of use, faded lettering of NYPD pressed against navy fabric.

“Babe? **Have you seen my hoodie?”** Bucky called out to the living room. It had to be around here somewhere. This wasn’t something he could just lose.

“ **Nooo** ,” your voice called out, a slight nervousness in your tone that made Bucky straighten his back. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he glanced over to the door.

A slight chuckle as he pinched the bride of his nose and “ **you’re wearing it aren’t you?”**

You appeared in the door to the bedroom, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest and an apologetic grimace in your face.

Sure enough, his hoodie laid over your frame, the end sitting just at the top of your thighs as a sliver of your sleep shorts peaked out from underneath. Messy hair tied up away from your face despite the few strands that escaped and the imprints of the folds of the pillow case were still present on your cheeks.

He’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“What?” you prodded, noticing the way he was staring at you. Your fingers gripped at the waist of the hoodie. “You want it back?”

“No,” Bucky replied quickly, holding up a hand. His cheeks were starting to hurt from how wide he was smiling. His girl in his clothes. It wasn’t something he’d been able to get used to. “Don’t ever take it off.”

“Well okay then,” you giggled moving to turn back to the living room.

“Wait! Hold on,” Bucky grabbed a hold of your hand, a surge of confidence coming over him, something akin to the kind of excitement a child wakes up to on Christmas morning, as he led you back into the bedroom.

He couldn’t wait any longer, he decided in that moment.

It didn’t matter that he had reservations booked at the nicest restaurant downtown he could afford (with a little help from Stark), or that he planned a walk through Central Park under the stars just to remind you of those nights he’d accompany you home after your shifts at the bar when he so badly wanted to hold your hand, or that you’d be met with candles and rose pedals and whole fuckin’ string quartet playing ‘Unchained Melody’ as you walked up to the center of the park.

Bucky couldn’t stand to wait a second longer.

How could he possibly with you looking like that?

You eyed him suspiciously as he raced around the room, searching for that tiny black box he had stashed away nearly four months ago. He would have gotten it sooner, maybe even on your one year anniversary, if Steve hasn’t cautioned him to slow down. Steve meant well, wanted him to be in it for the long hull and not just the adrenaline of the Hydra chaos that upended your lives but Bucky knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you before he’d even kissed you for the first time. There was no question in his mind.

“Buck? What are you doing?” you laughed, taking as seat on the edge of the bed as Bucky rummaged through the back of his sock drawer.

Tucked behind layers of socks and the Bible his ma insisted he hold onto, his hand clasped around the box. The relief only felt for a moment before the nerves settled in. He turned back to you, licking his lips as he held the box behind his back.

He paused, just staring at you for a moment. Stunning. Draped in his hoodie, a flush in your cheeks, and a spec of leftover toothpaste on your lip.

Bucky stepped forword, licking his thumb before he brushed the dried paste from your mouth.

“You’re beautiful, doll.”

You narrowed your eyes, playfully swatting away his hand. “You’re acting strange. You know that don’t you?”

“What’s so strange about thinking my girl is beautiful?”

“Have you seen me today?” you laughed, gesturing to the worn hoodie and flyaway hairs framing your face.

“It’s exactly why I’m saying it,” Bucky replied sincerely. He knelt down in front of you, settling between you legs as you sat on the bed, and you shot him a confused look. Taking in a deep breath, Bucky tried to still the racing of his heart.

“You know I had all this crazy romantic shit planned,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, “but if I have to wait another second, I think I might lose my mind.”

“Bucky, what are you-“

“Marry me,” Bucky blurted out, though his tone even and confident, despite the nervous ache in his stomach. Your eyes widened as he set the box on your thigh as his other hand ran along your hip.

“What?” you gaped, staring at the tiny black box.

“Marry me,” he repeated again, smile so wide it ached. “There’s no one else for me, doll. No one else I’d rather spend my life with, give my world to. It’s you, Y/n. It’s always been you. I’ve been yours from the first time I walked into your bar.”

“Bucky, I-“

“I’ll beg if you want,” Bucky chuckled, opening the box for you and enjoying the way you flustered through your words. Your eyes darted down to the ring at the center. The gem given by his mother from his grandmother’s ring, the band picked out by Bucky himself after four agonizing hours in the jewelry store with Steve.

“I know you like when I beg,” Bucky teased and you shoved his shoulder with a laugh. “I promise I’ll still take you out tonight and give you the whole sun and stars and flowers like I planned to but if I can’t get this ring on your finger right now, I might go insane. So, what do you say, doll? Think you can put up with my tired ass for a lifetime?”

Your fingers grazed over the ring, lips parted in complete shock as you glanced up to meet his eye.

It had been a while since he got the upper hand on you and the astonishment across your face was worth every moment he nearly proposed on the street walking home from the grocery store, in the one-four when your brought him coffee the nights the paperwork kept him too long, in bed on the edge of bliss, at three in the morning when he couldn’t sleep.

“Yes,” you whispered, tears swelling in your eyes and Bucky dove at you, hulling you into his arms as you fell back against the bed. Uncontrollable laughter rang from your chest as Bucky kissed every inch of your face he could lay his lips on. “Bucky!”

“Oh right, sorry!” Bucky laughed, grabbing the box from the end of the bed and pulled the ring from inside. He tossed the box to the floor and held the ring out for you to see.

“Marry me?”

“I already said yes!” you giggled as you tried to slip the ring into your finger but Bucky pulled it away.

“Say it again, will ya?” he teased, stealing a kiss from your cheek before you could swat him away.

“Yes! Ok? Yes, I’ll marry you! Yes, I’ll spend the rest of my life with you, you idiot!”

“That’s what I want to hear,” Bucky grinned, holding the ring out for you to slide your finger through. A perfect fit. It glistened against your skin.

You curled up against his side, admiring the ring as you laid on his chest. After some time as Bucky started to draw lazy patterns on your back, you said, “you’re going to be mad you caved before tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“You haven’t seen my dress yet,” you replied cheekily and Bucky’s chest vibrated against you as he laughed.

“Guess I’ll just have to ask again, then. Think you’ll say yes?”

“We’ll have to see…”

“Y/n!”

“Okay okay,” you laughed as Bucky teasingly pressed kisses all along your neck. You grabbed a hold of his face, pulling him back to meet your eye and let yourself get lost in shades of vibrant blue. The shimmer of a diamond on your finger.

“I will always say yes to you, Bucky. Always.”


	21. Drabble: Two Small Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ashlieadelia asked: For the witness drabbles i was wondering what would the reaction be to finding out they are expecting?
> 
> (+ “Witness one shot or Drabble where Bucky and reader have really steamy sex and end up pregnant” by anon and “Reader ends up pregnant” by anon)

You sat on the edge of the tub, hunched over with your elbows resting on your knees as you tapped your foot anxiously. Glancing up to the tiny white stick on the bathroom sink every few seconds, though you knew better than to check it before the timer on your phone rang out. Hands raked through your hair, nails dragging along your scalp just to find some reprieve from the nerves in your stomach, though it did little good. 

The reflection of the diamond on your left hand caught your eye and you let out a heavy breath. Your fingers grazing over the gemstone, thinking back to the day nearly two years ago when you met Bucky down the end of an aisle surrounded by the people who had come to be your family. 

In the world of doubts swimming in your head, he wasn’t one of them. 

You were ready for kids; at least that what you thought until you started waking up every morning with a nausea that constantly had you rushing to the bathroom and avoiding Bucky’s concerned questions. The possibility of it being real settled in and your mind drifted back to the night you knew was responsible. 

***

_Your back slammed against the wall the second Bucky was able to get the front door open, his mouth running along your neck hungrily as he pinned you down with his body weight. Wet, needy kisses as he sucked into the sweet spot on your neck that made you shiver down your back and left an aching need between your legs._

_“Bucky,” you panted, hand fumbling along the door to lock the deadbolt, “slow down, will ya?”_

_“Can’t,” he mumbled against your skin as his hand traveled down the front of your dress, your heart racing in the movement. His hand settled at the end of your dress, lifting it ever so carefully, until his hand set on the bare skin of your thigh, edging up to your waist. He nipped at your earlobe. “Can’t stand another second not being inside you, doll.”_

_His words shot straight to your core and you could help but grind down against his thigh he had preemptively placed between your legs just to find some relief. He chuckled at that, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties as his tongue brushed over your lips. He nudged his thigh against your core and you let out a groan that only spurred him on._

_“Don’t know how much you can stand either, baby,” Bucky purred, his words slightly muffled against your lips as he kissed you._

_“Think we can wait long enough to step away from the door?” you laughed, swatting Bucky away playfully._

_He’d spent most of the night telling you had badly he wanted you. Even sitting across the dinner table in the nicest restaurant you’d been to for months, he couldn’t keep those dirty words out of his mouth. He needed you right on that table in the front of all those people, he said, and you only rolled your eyes._

_He wasn’t kidding._

_Bucky didn’t waist a second and tugged you up into his arms. You let out a yelp, hands wrapping around his broad shoulders as he gripped under your thighs. Even as he walked you to the bedroom, his lips didn’t once leave your neck. You’d find purple markings along your skin in the morning, though you didn’t mind. Bucky always loved seeing the leftover remnants of the night before when he woke the following day, fingers tracing delicately against the colors upon your skin like painted masterpieces._

_He tossed you onto the bed and you bounced upon the mattress, laughter erupting in the room as Bucky crawled his way on top of you. His lips returned to yours, silencing you as he nipped and sucked at your mouth. His tongue traced against you and you parted your lips for him._

_You kissed him like he was the last breath you had and it only urged him on as he dragged his hardened length against your leg, aching with need beneath his jeans. Distracting him in the kiss, your hand slid down his stomach until it slipped behind the band of his pants and gripped at his cock. Bucky let out a whimper into your mouth and you smirked against him, running your hold along his hardened shaft._

_“Fuck, doll, you’re gonna kill me,” he panted, eyes glancing down to your hand nestled in his jeans. You flicked your thumb over his tip and he nearly gasped at the sensation. He pulled back suddenly, yanking his shirt over his head, revealing the rippled of muscles and scars beneath._

_Your eyes caught onto the marred skin of his shoulder; still present and rough against his smooth skin, though they had faded in the years. The surgical scars upon his abdomen had all but disappeared, but you could still find them if you tried. You knew his body too well not to._

_You felt Bucky tugging on your dress as he struggled to get it off of you. “Help me out here, babe?”_

_You laughed, obliging his request and pulled the dress up over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. The two-toned gold of your pendent swung down by your breasts._

_Bucky licked his lips hungrily as he shimmied his jeans down over his hips along with his briefs and kicked them off to the corner of the room. His cock hung proudly, waiting for you, red and dripping in precum, and your hand reached out for it. He gripped onto your wrist before you could touch him again._

_“You’re wearing more clothes than me, baby,” Bucky purred and his hands curled into the thin fabric of your panties. You smirked at him, giving that slight nod he needed and he pulled them down your thighs; the cool air causing you to squeeze your thighs together to alleviate the ache in your throbbing core._

_Bucky grabbed a hold of your knees, pressing them down to the mattress and spreading you open for him. He sighed, eyes settling on the wet shine of your folds._

_“Such a pretty sight,”_

_“Don’t make me blush, Bucky,” you teased, unclasping your bra from behind your back and swinging it over to the laundry basket._

_“Like you ain’t blushing already, doll,” Bucky smirked, settling himself between your legs as he ran his cock against your folds. You let out a gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders for support, hand grazing over the hardened skin of his left side._

_Bucky snaked a hand between your bodies and ran his fingers up the slick of your folds, parting you further and spreading the wetness up the slit. You let out a godly moan and Bucky pressed his face to the crook of your neck to keep himself from coming on the spot. A finger slipped into you easily, followed quickly by another. Your hips rocked against his hand and your nails dragged along his skin._

_“Oh, Bucky, f-fuck,” you mewled, panting into his ear and releasing the sweetest sounds he ever heard._

_“Jesus, Y/n,” Bucky groaned, circling your nub with his thumb as his curled his fingers against your walls, “you gotta be careful with those noises if you want me to make it long enough to come inside you.”_

_“Then stop teasing me and get on with it,” you said breathily and the grin that passed Bucky’s lips was enough to send shivers down your spine._

_“Whatever you want, baby,” Bucky grunted as he lined himself up, his tip edging at your opening until he slid himself inside. Warm and tight and encasing around him enough to make his eyes flutter shut in the sensation. He sank down into you until he had nothing left to give and settled himself against you. Chest pressed to yours, just revealing in the feeling of you all around him, all consuming. It wasn’t something he’s ever get used tp._

_“Bucky?”_

_“Yeah, baby?” he replied hazily._

_“I’m gonna need you to start moving,” you teased, kissing at his cheekbone lazily. He smiled sweetly at you, entirely too gentle and pure for the state of his body connecting with yours, but Bucky Barnes was an enigma; a culmination of kind and soft and lethal and needy. He was everything._

_“Sorry doll, you just feel so good wrapped around me,” he sighed, winking at you before he pulled out slowly, just to bait you, and pushed back in with agonizing pace. You whined his name again and he chuckled to himself, lips pressing to his favorite spot on your neck as he picked up his thrusts. Steady rhythm as he stretched and filled you and built upon the knot tightening at your core._

_“So good,” he panted into your ear, “so fucking good, doll.”_

_Propping himself up on his left elbow, he slid his hand down your stomach until it settled above your slit. One touch and you arched up against him, nails digging into his back. He gritted his teeth, the pleasure and pain searing together, as he began to rub hasty circles at your clit._

_“Bucky, oh God-” you cried, pushing your hips up to meet him halfway and his thrusts became more urgent, harsher, needy, chasing that release you both desperately craved. Walls clenching around him, his cock throbbing, the knot at your core twisting and pulling and building and building until-_

RING RING RING 

***

Your head snapped up, a gasp in your throat as the timer of your phone echoed through the walls of the bathroom. You scrambled to your feet, tapping on your phone at least four times before you were able to turn off the timer. The silence that followed only made it easier to hear the deafening thumping of your heart inside your ribcage. 

Slowly, carefully, you approached the test. Eyes closed and hands clenched at your sides, you didn’t even know what you wanted it to read. It wasn’t like you and Bucky were actively trying, but you had talked about it before. He’d made it known he wanted kids with you, but he didn’t once put any pressure on how soon he wanted it to happen. He was a patient man, he told you, and you knew he was sincere. 

Would you feel relieved if it was negative? Disappointed? Would you be terrified if it had those two little pink lines? Excited? You had no idea. 

A knock came from the other side of the door and your heart nearly leapt from your chest. 

“Y/n?” Bucky called cautiously. “You okay, sweetheart?”

He wasn’t supposed to be home so soon. Your lips parted to respond but nothing came out. It was like you were paralyzed. 

“Y/n?” Bucky called again, a nervous tone in his voice, when you didn’t respond. “I’m coming in, alright?”

You swallowed thickly, staring at the door, though you made no movement to lock it. Maybe you didn’t have to go through this alone. Bucky was supposed to be your partner in everything. You shared rings to remind you of that. You found yourself thumbing the band on your left hand. 

The door creaked open and Bucky peaked in through the sliver to find you clenching your jaw, hands pressed into fists at your side, and quick breaths in your chest. He narrowed his eyes, pushing the door open further and reaching out for you. He gathered you quickly into his arms, chin resting on the crown of your head. You never felt as safe as you did in his arms. 

“What’s wrong, doll? Everything okay?” he asked, pulling back just to examine you further. 

You nodded, though your eyes glanced over to the pregnancy test on the sink. Bucky followed your gaze and his breath caught in his throat. 

“I haven’t looked yet,” you blurted out. “I… I don’t know what I want it to say and I’m afraid you’ll be-”

“Hey, hold on now,” Bucky soothed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not going to be anything, okay? I’m on board with whatever it says and if it’s not what you want, then I’m on board with that, too.”

You nodded slowly, taking in a deep breath as Bucky’s hands ran along your arms. 

“You’re my wife, Y/n. I’m with you every step of the way,” he said sweetly and you believed every word. 

Bucky closed the toilet seat and sat down, rubbing his hands together nervously as he waited for you to look at the results of the test. If he was honest, he knew exactly what he wanted the test to say, he’d wanted it for a while, but he was cautious to watch for your reaction first. You were the love of his life, the most important person in his world, and if you weren’t ready, it was the end of the discussion. When it was time, he wanted you to be just as excited as he was. If it meant waiting a little longer, he was okay with that. 

You swallowed, wincing as you took another step closer to the sink. With Bucky’s eyes watching you so carefully, you found it hard to find your breath. Then as if he could read your mind and you often questioned if he could, Bucky’s hand snaked into yours, squeezing it softly just to remind you he was there.

You picked up the test and you were surprised to find a smile curve up your lips. Shock. Excitement. Maybe a little relief and you clung onto the tiny stick. 

“Y/n?” Bucky asked nervously. “What did it say?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Bucky froze, wide eyed. He scratched at the nape of his neck, eyes everting to the ground before they looked up at you again under hooded stare. “Are we, um, are we happy about that?”

You nodded, the smile only lifting your cheeks higher as a grin broke out on Bucky’s face. “Yeah, yeah I think I am.” 

“Yeah? For real?”

“Yes, Bucky, for real,” you laughed, amused by the look of complete disbelief in his features. “I’m happy. I’m really, really happy.”

Suddenly, he let out a joyful shout and swung you into his arms, lifting you up to sit on the bathroom sink. He kissed you through the dizziness in his head, the thumping of his heart racing with an excitement he didn’t know how to contain. 

Stars aligning, a millennium of pain crammed into the few short months that hurled Bucky into your life, and you’d do it again, live every second over, if it meant it would bring you to this moment with him. 

With Bucky.

Completely and undeniably yours. 

**Author's Note:**

> series playlist can be found here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3UloIbrPQpZtf9uC3lSFFc?si=zjdOmy8zQI2UnePP4BVcJw


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